Son of Rage and Love
by MyselfandTom
Summary: "Everyone has a past and for these four teenagers they never envisioned a future free from theirs. Until they met each other." AU teenage/coming of age story set in 1980's Los Angeles, California. Bruce-centered fic with Clint, Natasha, and Tony. Bruce/Clint pre-relationship. Bruce/Clint/Natasha/Tony friendship.
1. Chapter 1

A/N 1: AU teenage story set in 1980's Los Angeles, California. This was inspired by the Hulk comic series _Tempest Fugit_ , but there will be variations as I take creative liberties. Major changes to the backstories of Bruce, Clint, and Natasha. Also, Steve Rogers is not in this because he's frozen in ice and Thor is in Asgard, so don't expect them to show up.

A/N 2: _Bruce's thoughts._ _ **Hulk's thoughts.**_

A/N 3: My other story _Something Like Human_ is on hiatus. I will get back to it, promise!

Pairing: Bruce/Joe/Rick Jones but eventual Bruce/Clint. Bruce/Clint/Natasha/Tony/Rick friendship-ish.

 **Warnings** : Mental health issues including Dissociative Identity Disorder, voyeurism, and suicidal thoughts and tendencies. Foul language, M/M and M/F relationships and sexually suggestive situations but nothing explicit, drug and alcohol use, violence, verbal and physical child abuse, mentions of murder, and overall mature themes.

Rating: Strong T or M depending on maturity level.

 **Bruce's Multiple Personalities Guide FYI:**

Banner (Bruce): Host personality. Genius outcast. Emotionally distant, withdrawn, but cares about people. Wants to save everyone except himself. Little self worth and highly self-sacrificial. Awkward. People call him freak. Survivor's guilt, blames himself for mother's death.

Hulk (Gray) - Main alter, voice in Banner's head and constant with other multiples. Angry and critical of Banner. Blames Banner for mother's death and thinks of him as puny, weak, and worthless (much like his father).

Joe (Joe Fixit) - Enforcer/Protector. A surly teenager; menacing in appearance, arrogant, domineering, bad-tempered, moody. Mischievous. Charming when wants to be. Talkative. Sexually promiscuous. Hulk likes Joe and Joe likes Hulk.

Robbie (Savage Hulk, Green) - Child-like (Banner at 8 years old), quick tempered but ultimately wants to be left alone. Stockholm Syndrome, defends his father.

David (Devil Hulk, Red) - Evil...sociopath. Doesn't talk much if at all. Stoic, unemotional, cold, calculated, and vengeful. All he wants to do is get back at the people who's hurt them. No moral compass.

* * *

The year was 1988. Ronald Reagan was still the President of the United States, the Soviet Red Army was still invading Afghanistan, and most of the residents of Los Angeles, California were watching the NBA playoffs as the L.A. Lakers looked to win the basketball championship. Even the Axl Rose lookalike working the music store had his back turned to the door as his eyes were glued on the black-and-white television in the corner.

All the teenage boy with wavy hair and brown eyes that narrowed behind a pair of thin wire-framed eyeglasses could think about was whether to buy the Metallica's album _Master of Puppets_ or The Cure's _The Head on the Door_. He was leaning more towards The Cure solely because he hadn't listened to their music before, but then again, he really liked Metallica and knew he wouldn't end up blowing his money.

"Is this band any good?" he asked as he picked the cassette up and held it up so the guy behind the counter could see it. When he was ignored, he asked again, "Hey, are they any good?"

"What band?" The Axl Rose lookalike asked without taking his eyes off the basketball game.

"The Cure."

"Yeah, man. Take it."

A small smirk spread across his sun tanned face as he repeated the words, "Take it?"

"As long as you pay for it, I'll let you take the other you've been debating with for the last five minutes for free." Okay, so maybe Axl had been paying attention this whole time. He grabbed both tapes and started for the counter. "With what you're wearing I figured you for a country-western fan," Axl said as he turned around and rang up the order. "Nine bucks, kid."

He stared at the guy then looked down at his clothes. He wore a thin plaid long sleeve buttoned-down shirt, pair of khakis stained with bleach, and a worn out pair of leather loafers were on his bare feet.

"Don't you own tennis shoes?"

Tossing a ten on the counter, he told him, "I don't even own shorts."

Axl laughed as he said, "You live in Cali. Go get some surfer shorts, dude, and take in some rays."

After accepting the change for the ten, he took both cassette tapes and left the store. Out on the sidewalk he dropped his wallet and one of the tapes in the backpack then slung it over his shoulders before unclipping the Walkman from his belt. He unwrapped the newly bought tape and switched out U2 with The Cure. Then once he had the tape player clipped back onto his belt, headphones on his ears, he pressed 'play'.

The moment he heard the first rapid beating of the drums of "In Between Days", he was hooked. Unlocking his bike from the post he had it chain to, he wrapped the chain around the bike frame then headed down 4th Street that ran along Santa Monica Beach.

That was when he heard a voice start to sing, _"Yesterday I got so old I felt like I could die. Yesterday I got so old It made me want to cry. Go on, go on just walk away, go on, go on your choice is made, go on, go on and disappear, go on, go on away from here..."_

His hands were drumming along as he peddled steadily down the street. The neon and twinkling lights of the Venice boardwalk faded into the shadows of the high buildings, hotels, and business. The breeze felt crisp and cool against his face on that mild spring night as he took a corner wide and leaned into the turn. He loved riding his bike; it felt like he was flying and floating at the same time.

 _"And I know was wrong when I said it was true, that it couldn't be me, and be her, inbetween without you...Without you..."_

Glowing orange lamplights, brake lights and highbeams of cars coming and going, and the blinking red and flashing from green to yellow of streetlights kept his attentions as he weaved around parked cars and moving ones. The further he got from the beach the thicker the air grew. Sweat started to coat his back as he peddled faster to the rhythm of the upbeat song as he steered toward home.

 _"Yesterday I got so scared I shivered like a child. Yesterday away from you it froze me deep inside. Come back, come back, don't walk away, come back, come back, come back, today. Come back, come back why can't you see..."_

Up ahead on the corner a guy wearing a black leather jacket with spiked black hair was yelling at a girl with curly red hair wearing a brown leather jacket and black skirt. Then he suddenly reached out and grabbed the girl by her arm as she tried to walk away. She started shoving him back but he kept pulling her toward him.

 _"And I know I was wrong when I said it was true, that it couldn't be me, and be her, inbetween without you..."_

His bike came to an abrupt stop before he reached the corner and watched as the girl was shoved against the cemented wall of the building. Feeling his jaw twitch as his hands gripped over the rubber handles his eyes darted around the street and noticed no one else paying attention or even bothering to help. He was the only one who noticed.

 _ **Don't do it, Banner.**_ "I have to do something." _**Hulk not gonna help. You're on your own, kid.**_ "Tell me something I don't know," he said back as he cursed himself.

 _Shit_ , he thought as he pulled off the backpack and opened it to examine the contents while he tried to figure out what to do. There wasn't much; a few books, his wallet, a transistor radio, cassette tape, and a pack of gum and Mentos. Looking back behind him, he spotted the 24-Hour sign of the local gas station and quickly sped toward it.

Inside the gas station he only bought one thing: a bottle of Diet Coke with the remaining change he had in his pocket. Getting back on his bike, he unscrewed the cap off the Diet Coke and positioned the open end of the Mentos over the opening to the bottle. Then he headed back down the street to where the boy was now physically trapping the girl to the wall.

The girl's whole body was tense as she tried to fight her way out from being pinned. As he got closer, he let out a whistle to get the guy's attention away from her and onto him. "Catch," he said at the exact moment he let the Mentos drop down into the bottle then tossed it to guy.

On instinct, the guy turned slighlty and caught the bottle being thrown as the sudden eruption of soda into the air took him by surprise.

Stopping his bike, he looked over at the stunned girl and asked, "Coming with me?"

She looked guy who was soaking wet from soda and climbed up on the handlebar before he could figure out what was going on. "Only if I want to live," she said with an amused smirk.

He laughed at the _Terminator_ reference as he took off down the street. "Where to?" he asked into her ear.

She pointed the way around the streets, taking him further away from home and back toward the Santa Monica. Then they headed South and into a Palm tree lined neighborhood that had him very confused. _Who was this girl?_ _ **Trouble**_ **.**

"Stop here."

They came to a stop and she jumped off the bike and turned to face him, saying, "Thanks for that."

"No problem," he told her as he looked around the Ocean Park neighborhood. Her house was a blue and white trim two story bungalow with a stone wall and white picket fence. His hands startled to tremble slightly as the adrenline wore down. Now he was alone with her. Trying to push the panic aside, he took a deep breath. _Okay, you can do this, Banner. Take a deep breath and talk..._ "You really live here?"

She looked around and shrugged her shoulders. "My parents are in real estate," she said as to explain why she lived in a quite possible million dollar home.

"Well, it's safe to say that they're doing very well for themselves." _And try not to sound like a condescending jackass._

"How about your parents? What'd they do?"

Shaking his head a little as he looked away, he let out a breath as he told her, "Parent, actually. It's just me and my father. And uh, it's classified."

She laughed and said, "Fine don't tell me but you don't have to lie."

"No, it really is classified. I can tell you that he has a degree in Physics. He works out of UCLA and does work for the government, but other than that he doesn't talk about it. All he says is that it's classified." He stared over at her for a long moment, watching as she pulled her jacket tighter around her body. "So, who was that guy?"

She looked embarrassed for a split second before it was gone and her face was back to being stoic. "An ex of mine."

"You dated that guy?" He looked her over as he tried to figure her age under too much eye-shadow and makeup. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen, and why'd you care? It was no big deal, okay. I kind-of deserved it," she said as she kicked the sidewalk with her heels.

"No one deserves that, especially not a girl. You shouldn't think that-"

"I don't! And who do you think you are, my dad? I don't even know you."

 _Nice going, Banner. Get her mad already after saving her from that psycho._ He raised his hands as he pushed the bike he was sitting on backwards and away. "Sorry, and you're right, you don't know me." Once he saw her relax, he said, "I'm Bruce Banner."

"Natasha Rushman."

"Well, Natasha, this was fun but I've got to get going," he said as he started to back-peddled.

"So, is this your thing?"

He stopped as he asked in confusion, "My thing?"

"Going around helping young girls in distress so you can get lucky?"

 _ **Ha! Like you'd stand a chance.**_ Bruce closed his eyes against that mockery and shook his head. "No, it's not like that. I didn't..." He opened his eyes to look at her. "I didn't help you because I thought I could...you know, get lucky." Her look of disbelief was actually funny, so he laughed a little. "It's the truth. I did it because you were in trouble, and I didn't like seeing you in trouble."

"You care about what happens to me?" she teasingly asked. "Some strange girl you don't even know."

"Haven't you ever done something for someone else without wanting something in return?"

She shrugged and shook her head as she started to back away. "Not really. Guess you're a better person than I am."

He frowned at that and shook his head. _If only she knew._ "I hightly doubt that. I should get going."

"Hey wait," she said suddenly as she pulled out a tube of something from her jacket pocket and opened it. "Roll up your sleeve."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't have a pen or paper, roll it up."

He had no idea what Natasha was planning with the stick of lipstick she had in her hand but he did, rather hesitantly, rolled up his left arm sleeve. She grabbed his arm and stilled for a moment, spotting the scars, before she started writing something on his skin. They were numbers.

"Give me a call if you want to get together some time." She then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and then headed up the walkway to the front door. "Thanks again, Bruce."

 _Give me a call_... _ **She's gonna hurt you. Remember the last girl you tried to help? Give enough time, she'll start calling you a freak too.**_ "Shut. Up." Bruce watched as she disappeared into her house and smiled slightly. That was the first time anyone wanted him to give them a call, or kissed him for that matter. _Way to go, Banner._

Checking the time on his watch, his moment of happiness slipped as he cursed when noticed it was going on ten o'clock. Pulling on his headphones to drain out the constant voice in his head, he resumed listening to the music as he hurried home.

His body felt like it was on fire by the time he reached the two story house in West Los Angeles just a few miles south of the University of California, Los Angeles. Sweat was dripping down his whole body as he stopped at the fence and let the bike fall to the cement drive. Rummaging around in the garage behind the house, he found a jar filled with nails and took one out. Stepping back over to the bike, he grimaced as he knelt down and stabbed the nail into the front tire and let all the air out.

He carried the bike through the gate and dropped it by the backdoor as he unlocked it and entered into the kitchen. Bruce grabbed a glass out of the strainer and filled it with water. He nearly choked a few times as he gulped it down then refilled it again before heading up the stairs to his room. The two bedrooms were on opposite sides of the bathroom he and his father shared. His father's bedroom door was shut but he could see the flickering glow of the television under the door.

Opening the door to his room, he stood in the doorway and sipped the water as he tried not to think about the morning. He moved into the room and turned on the lamp light on the desk next to the door. The room was painted blue and had posters taped nearly over every square inch of the walls. There were movie posters such as _2001: A Space Odyssey,_ the _Star Wars_ trilogy _,_ and _Dr. Strangelove_ to band posters such as The Ramones, Queen, and Pink Floyd. Then there were the absolute obscure black-and-white images of the 1937 Hindenburg Zeppelin crash, the atomic explosion mushroom cloud, and of Albert Einstein with a quote that read: "I have no special talents, I am only passionately curious."

A map of the city of Los Angeles was tacted over his desk along with Schrodinger's Equation of Quantum Mechanics beside the Feynman diagram of Quantum Field Theroy. His desk was littered with books, papers, and notebooks full of his own notes and diagrams of his ongoing work on antielectron collisions. Model rockets and planes hung from the ceiling as model cars were used as bookends on shelves. In the middle of the shelves was his stereo system that played records, cassettes, and had radio. Next to the shelves was a telescope pointed out his window and not necessarily aimed up at the sky.

He dropped his backpack into the chair at the desk and started to undress. It was time for a shower and then some much needed sleep. Taking a pen and paper into the bathroom with him, he held his left arm up in the mirror and jotted down the phone number written on it along with the name 'Natasha'.

As he stuffed the number into his pants pocket he heard the door next to the bathroom open. He felt his body tense as he stilled. His father appeared in the doorway. Brian Banner was four inches taller than him, putting him a six foot even. His brown eyes were bloodshot with dark shadows under them due to lack of sleep. In his hand was a glass of amber liquid that Bruce knew was whiskey. Maker's Mark, his father's poison of choice.

"You're late. Curfew's nine o'clock on school nights."

 _ **Busted. I'd start praying now if I were you.**_ "I know and I apologize for not making it on time. I got a flat." _**Liar, liar, pants on fire.**_ "I had to take the bus then walk the rest of the way," he continued his lie as he picked up the cup of coffee and took a sip.

Brian stared at him as his top lip twitched under his mustache. It was a sure sign that he was getting angry. "A flat?"

He gave a nod and said, "Yeah. I'll-" Before he could finish, Brian disappeared down the stairs. Then he heard the backdoor being open. _**You're in it now. He knows.**_ "He doesn't know." _**Just wait. Father will smash puny Banner, again.**_ "I've never lied to him before. He wouldn't think I was lying...unless..." His eyes narrowed as he asked, "You didn't tell him, did you...Hulk?" When he didn't receive an answer, he felt his jaw twitchas the seconds ticked by and he couldn't do anything but wait.

After a long sixty-two seconds he heard the door slam shut. Brian reappeared up the steps and pointed at him. "It better get fixed. I don't have time to drive-"

"Yes, sir, I'll get right on it in the morning." He watched as Brian looked him over, took a sip of his drink, and then went back into his bedroom and shut the door. That was when he felt himself breathe again. _**Ye of little faith.**_ "Sorry," he muttered to before turning on the water for a shower.

After the shower he laid in bed for a long time. He couldn't get comfortable and he was still wired. He kept thinking about what happened that night. For the first time in all his life, he actually helped someone out when they were in trouble. It felt great and he was able to do it by himself. Just him, Bruce Banner, and no one else. Then she had given him her number and had kissed him as a thank you.

His body started to feel a little too hot and he groaned as he sat up in bed. He didn't want to think about her but now he was getting increasingly uncomfortable yet needy. Getting up out of bed, he went over to his window and looked out at the neighboring houses. Despite the late hour, several were still up or just getting into bed. There were a few neighbors he knew he could rely on when he got this way. Peering through the telescope, he searched out the windows until he found what he'd been looking for.

Their names were Matt and Ryan. Both students at UCLA and both claiming to only be roommates. He, however, knew the truth to their relationship. He pulled his desk chair over and sat down before focusing the telescope lense into the window of the house adjacent to his. He didn't know why, but for some reason they always kept the light on. It was like they wanted him to watch them as they kissed and made-out on the couch before taking it into the bedroom. Tonight was different; they never left the couch.

The next morning he rushed around the kitchen as he prepared breakfast. He'd picked up the paper from the front yard and had it ready on the table for his father. The coffee was done brewing as he flipped the bacon and stirred the scambled eggs while the bread toasted in the toaster. Minutes later, while he was taking the bacon out of the skillet and placing it onto some paper towels, he heard his father walk into the room.

Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as his father poured himself a cup of coffee and then took his seat at the table without saying a word. He went back to fixing them both plates as his throat went dry. He nearly dropped the toast but was able to catch it before it hit the counter. His father liked butter on his while he liked jam. After placing his father's plate in front of him, he sat his on the table then went to get a cup of coffee.

Finally sitting down at the table, he took a sip of the coffee then went to take a bite of the eggs when his father spoke, "I know you lied to me."

He stilled over his plate and lifted his head slightly as he looked over at his father. Brian was dressed in a freshly pressed tweed suit jacket and dress shirt, no tie, and his black hair was combed perfectly in place. Under the facade of that clean appearance, he could smell the hint of alcohol on his breath. His father was hitting the bottle already, or maybe he'd slipped some bourbon into his coffee.

When he didn't respond, Brian lifted his brown eyes over the paper as he said,"I'm talking to you."

Blinking back, Bruce swallowed hard as he asked, "What?"

Brian folded the paper and put it down on the table. "I saw you when you got home. You went into the garage, got what I'm assuming was a nail, and then jammed it into your tire."

 _ **Banner thought he was so smart. Father smartest one there is.**_ He felt his hand start to shake and put the fork down before he dropped it. Staring down at his plate of food, he no longer had an appetite.

"I'm giving you one chance to tell me the truth."

Letting out a breath, he told him, "I went to the record store."

"And?"

 _ **Go on, tell him. You met a girl. You have her number, and she kissed you. Go on, tell him, see what happens.**_ "And," he shook his head and lied again, "I lost track of time. I tried to hurry back but traffic was bad. I didn't think that was a good enough excuse so I flattened my tire...Sorry."

It'd been months since the last time his father had physically hit him, but the threat was always there, especially when he'd been drinking. However, what hasn't been lacking was the verbal attacks he would receive from his father. And the mind games the man liked to play. He never knew what to expect from his father from one minute to the next.

"That's it? You're sorry?"

Bruce knew it was coming before it came just from the way his father spoke those words. The backhand to his face nearly sent him backwards out of the chair as his glasses flew off his face. He felt the needle-sharp stings in his face then the swelling numbness of his split lip. The plate of food in front of him was suddenly taken away as Brian grabbed it as he stood and then threw it into the sink, shattering the plate. He licked at the blood spreading over his lips as his hands fisted the seat of the chair. It was all he could to do to keep from trying to hit him back.

He'd tried that once; it didn't end well for him. _ **That's 'cause you're pathetic.**_

"Get up."

It took him a moment to realize he'd been spoken to. "What?"

"Get up," Brian said as he yanked him to his feet and then pushed him. "What're you going to do, huh?" he asked as he slapped him again.

Bruce felt his hands fist at his sides as his father pushed him again. _**What ARE you going to do?! Smash him back!**_

"Think you're a big man now," Brian said with a push to his chest. "Staying out all night," he emphasized with another slap to his head. "Lying to me!" He was pushed against the wall and held there as Brian got right in his face. "What'd you do? Smoke some pot?" He slapped him in the head again. "Get laid?" He hit him again. "Because I know damn well you didn't get held up at a record store. So what was it?"

He swallowed down the lump in his throat as he let slip out of his trembling bleeding mouth, "Met a girl."

Brian actually smiled a little at that as he nodded. "Met a girl, huh? You kiss her?" Bruce shook his head and flinched as Brian pushed his face against the wall then let go. "Of course not. You're not a man; you're nothing but a pansy ass piece of shit. Can't even defend yourself, but you sure can lie, can't you?" he said as he walked back over to the table and sat down. Picking up the paper, he went back to reading it like nothing had happened.

Bruce pushed himself off the wall, grabbed his glasses off he floor, and left the kitchen as he fought back tears. They weren't from the pain but the hate he had for his father, and the humiliation he'd put him through. _**Shoulda got Joe. He'd at least tried to fight back.**_ "And landed us both in the hospital. It's better not to fight back." _**Says the weakling.**_ He cleaned up as best he could in the bathroom but the split lip was noticable as well as the bruise under his right eye from the first blow to his face.

He grabbed his backpack and immediately left the house to fix his bike's flat tire. The gnawing of his empty stomach pissed him off the entire bike ride to his high school. He arrived late for first bell, making it his fifth tardy in two weeks. He'd lost count of how many total on the year. His bike slid to a stop at the bike rack and he quickly dismounted and chained it up so not to get stolen before heading inside the main doors. Before he reached the hallway to the office he heard a voice call out his name.

"Mr. Banner!"

He groaned and cursed under his breath before turning around. The Assistant Principal Mr. Patterson was coming his way and he didn't look too happy. In fact, he never looked happy.

"How many is that now?" Giving it some thought, Bruce wasn't able to answer when he heard him say, "After school detention."

"What?" he asked in confusion and near shock. "It's the last day of school."

Mr. Patterson only stared down at him as he said, "Do you want to graduate?"

"Of course."

"Then I suggest you do as I say. Just because it's the last day doesn't mean you get to do whatever you want and still expect to graduate. It'd be a shame considering how hard you've worked to make up for what happened last year."

Bruce flinched at that and looked down at the floor as he gave a nod. He should have been expelled but that didn't happen. He was lucky, he knew, to have been accepted back to school. The fact that he'd been a 3.8 GPA student since attending the high school and this year he'd managed to maintain a 4.0. He was sure his grades was one of the reasons why they'd given him another shot and whay had kept him out of jail. His Uncle Morris was most likely the second. Morris was the County Sheriff and despite his hate for Brian Banner, his wife's brother, he liked Bruce.

"Come on, I'll walk you to class."

"But I have to report-"

"You're tardy because of me. I held you up, which I will explain to Miss Shirley personally," Mr. Patterson told him as he shoved him in the back, toward the hallway.

He had no idea why Mr. Patterson was suddenly being so nice but he wasn't about to complain. It wasn't like he was being too nice; he did have after school detention on the last day of school. As they approached his first class of the day, Mr. Patterson asked, "What happened?"

Bruce stopped outside the door and just looked up at him in confusion.

"Your lip's busted."

"Oh, yeah, right. I fell off my bike. Well, it wasn't that I fell, more like...crashed while trying to jump a curb."

"Ouch. Good thing you didn't bust your skull. Don't you have a helmet?"

He did have one his junior year. "It got stolen. Haven't gotten around to replacing it."

"Maybe now's the time," Mr. Patterson told him before escorting him into the classroom and having a word with his first period teacher.

After that morning, it was a long and uneventful day at school. It was all very boring and he admitted to actually falling asleep in AP Physics against the backwall when he was supposed to have been revising his scholarship thesis on Quantum Mechanics. It was practically finished anyway, all he had left to do was insert the diagrams.

Once last bell rang, he headed slowly to his locker as every student in the school happily and excitedly started to run around him, throwing up papers and books and leaving the school as quickly as possible. Some were leaving for the summer and some for the rest of their lives.

Taking the turn down the hallway, he saw the hand come out right before his books were smacked out of his hand. A pair of hands grabbed him by the front of the shirt and tossed him back into the lockers right before he heard Ken Nando's voice tell him, "Thanks for the memories, bitch" as a fist knocked all the air out of his lungs.

A couple more guys pushed and shoved him until he was tripping over his legs and tumbled to the floor as they kicked his books down the hallway. He stayed sitting on the floor as he tried to breathe without anything hurting.

 _ **That's it? After everything Jerk boy's done to you, you're just going to sit there? That's it. Where's Joe? Get Joe!**_ "Not now." _C'mon, Banner, calm down._ His hands flinched and pulsed as he clenched and unclenched them while he fought down the anger that pounded his head. _**NOW IS ALL YOU HAVE LEFT!**_ Feeling his jaw start to twitch he closed his eyes and took some painfully steady breaths to calm himself down. _**Joe will teach Jerk boy a lesson. Come on, Banner, you know what to do...**_

"Hey, man, you okay?"

Opening his eyes, he looked up at some blond-haired punk rock kid who stared down at him behind a pair of dark sunglasses. "Never better. Ken lost some power in his swing, guess skipping P.E. will do that to a guy,'' he said as a sly smirk spread over his face. _**Heeeey Joe.**_ _Hey Hulk._

The kid held out his hand and helped him to his feet then shoved his books into his chest.

"Thanks," he groaned against the jolt of pain in his chest as he took the books. _Jeez, Banner. Why'd you let that jerk-off hit you so hard?_

The kid said over his shoulder, "Don't mention it," as he turned to walk away.

Joe watched as the kid headed down the hallway before continuing on to Bruce's locker. The littered hallway was empty now and he was left alone. He pulled a bottle of Tylenol from Bruce's backpack and popped it into his mouth and swallowed it dry as he gathered the notebooks, empting the locker for the last time. Looking into the mirror on the back of the locker door, he pulled off the nerdy eyeglasses and tossed them into the backpack as well. He didn't need them. Banner didn't need them all the time either but he liked to hide behind them. The hair was another story. He tried to make it look decent and cool but it was useless.

"Detention?" he asked once he gave up on the hair. _**Banner was late again.**_ "Figures. That kid will be late to his own funeral one of these days," he said as he grabbed a thin black leather jacket ouf to the locker before slamming it shut. "When Banner screws up he always calls on Joe because Joe fixes it, that's why they call me Joe Fixit...Get it?" he said as he pulled on jacket. When Hulk didn't laugh, he sighed, picked up the backpack and slung it over one shoulder as he said, "Idiot." _ **Idiot.**_ He stopped on the step and smirked before he laughed and headed up to the third floor.

After school detention was the same classroom it's been since they started going to that school in the tenth grade. Third floor, room F-365. He entered the room and didn't even have to give his name to the teacher. Mr. Ledbetter only looked at him and shook his head as he marked Bruce's name off of the sheet. Without asking, he went to the phone in the corner and called his work's phone number and informed them that he'd be late again.

Taking up a desk in the back of the room, he pulled out a notebook and pencil then flipped to the last page they'd left off at and began writing. Someone took a seat next to him and cleared their throat. Looking up, he saw the punk rock kid smirking at him. He didn't know the guy's name but in his mind, he was going to call him Sid after Sid Vicious from the punk band _Sex Pistols._

"In all the detention rooms in all the world, you walk into mine."

"That's the worst pickup line ever," Joe shot back, causing Sid to chuckle behind the dark sunglasses. He smiled back. _**He's BIG trouble.**_ Ignoring the voice, he looked the kid over and thought, _trouble for Banner, but no trouble for "Joey the Kid"._ He could actually feel Hulk roll his eyes at him.

"I haven't seen you in here before."

Joe smirked as he said, "Funny, all the times I've had detention I've never seen you either."

"This was my first full year here. I transferred at the end of last year so...I don't remember you though. I think I would have remembered."

There was a very good reason Sid didn't remember them from last year if he'd only transferred there at the end of the year. "This is only my second time in detention this year. And last year, I was suspended for the remainder of the semester, that's probably why."

Sid was quiet again before asking, "What's your name?"

He stopped himself from saying Joe as he told him, "Banner... Bruce Banner." Then he watched as the sudden realization appeared on the Sid's face.

"You're the bomb guy!"

Mr. Ledbetter's head lifted up at that and everyong in the class, only two others, turned and stared at them.

Joe gave a amused wave, causing everyone to turn back around or shake their heads. Looking back at Sid, he told him, "It was a science project."

"Not what I heard. Rumor is you tried to blow up the school," he said and started laughing. "I'm surprised you're not in jail, man."

He saw the amused smile on Sid's face and smiled himself. Those sunglass were keeping him from seeing his eyes and it was starting to get annoying. Joe liked it when he saw mischief in someone else's eyes beside his own. "Yeah, well, I got lucky. It really was a science project. It wasn't even an active bomb...It was stupid." _Stupid of Banner getting caught with it._

"How'd you get out of it? Did you have to do community service?"

"Some, but like I said, I got lucky." _**We got lucky.**_ "Can I get back to my work now?"

Sid shrugged as he said, "Free country. I'm Clint, by the way. Clint Barton," he said as he held out his hand.

Joe stared at the offered hand then took it into his and shook it. He let his fingers caress along his wrist then palm as he pulled away. To his surprise, and pleasure, Sid didn't freak out; instead, he looked very much interested in him now. He smiled a little before going back to write in the notebook.

"What're you writing?" he asked as he reached out to grab it.

His hand slammed down on the desk, nearly smacking Sid's hand as panic flared in his chest. _**NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!**_ "That's none of your business."

Sid had yanked his hand back and he could see the surprise even behind the sunglasses. "Yea, hey, sorry man. Shouldn't have done that."

"Sorry...bullies you know. Usually when other people touch my stuff...I don't get it back in one piece."

Sid gave a nod and apologized again before saying, "You have John 3:16 written over the cover...Religious?"

He flipped the notebook to the cover and saw it written there on front. "No, mother wa Catholic..." Joe shook his head as he tried to remember what Banner had thought about that biblical verse. _What did he say..._ "It's more of what the verse is about. Sacrificing yourself for others, the sinners and the saints, even if it means your death, for the good of it all." He looked over and saw Sid staring at him. "Deep huh?"

"As the ocean," Sid said then leaned his head back on the wall. "Pretty cool actually," he mumbled to himself before laying down on the desk to take a nap.

Joe returned his attention to the notebook as he started writing. It was awhle later that he felt himself start to fade a little. _No, no, no, no! Not now. Come on! I just got to..._

His vision came into focus and he found himself staring down at his notebook in the detention room. Looking around, he saw the punk kid asleep at the desk next to his and frowned in confusion. "Damn it," he said under his breath. "Not again." _**Joe and Punk boy talked.**_ Turning back to his notebook, he squinted at the blurry words and sighed in frustration. After he dug around in the bag and found his glasses, he put them on and saw written at the top of the page 'Sid Vicious = Clint Barton' then the words 'nice' and 'cute as fuck'.

 _ **Stay away.**_ "I'm not having this discussion with you," he muttered as he headed down the hallway after detention ended. _**Punk boy is trouble.**_ "Punk boy...Clint," he corrected, "was nice. You're not even nice to me anymore." _**Banner likes to make his own misery and pain nowadays. Not my problem. Hulk warn you, but you never listen.**_ The voice went quiet as he exited the school and walked to the bike rack. As he was unlocking the chain, he heard someone come up behind him.

"What're you doing tonight?"

Bruce turned and saw Clint standing him. "What?"

Clint smirked and came to a stop next to him. "I'm in a band: Rebels Against the Cause. I know, total rip-off of the James Dean movie. Anyway, I play the drums and we have a gig at the Rip Chord. You know the place?"

The Rip Chord was a local hangout for the punk rock crowd down by Venice Beach. "I know it. Never been."

"Cool, come check us out. Our set starts at 9:30."

"Wait, wait," Bruce shook his head as he asked, "why are you asking me?"

Clint only looked at him in confusion then said slowly, "Caaauuse..."

When that was the only answer he received he laughed a little as he said, "Thanks, but nobody invites me anywhere...for anything. You saw me get my dignity handed to me by Ken Nando and we only met this afternoon-"

"So what? I just thought...Forget it, you know what, come if you want." Clint shook his head and backed away. "Choice is yours," as he shoved his hands into his leather jacket and walked away.

Bruce watched him walk away for the second time that afternoon and sighed in annoyance with himself. He didn't know why he always questioned people about their motives and reasons, but he did and it always seemed to push them further away. It was no wonder he only had one friend.

 _ **That's not the only reason...Puny boy.**_ "Go away," he said as he pulled on his headphones.

 _Come or don't_. Tonight at nine he'd be at the Rip Chord...maybe. Hell, he didn't know. Right now he had to get to work. He was late. Story of his life.

Due to his father's position at the university, he had been able to get himself a job on UCLA's campus. It wasn't the greatest job in the world, but if filled his pockets and helped him to build a rapport with the university's staff and the professors. He didn't mind that he pushed a mop around and cleaned hallways, classrooms, and bathrooms because he got access to the labs and could talk to any professor he wanted about any topic that interest him. Plus, he had nobody bothering him and could listen to his music while he worked.

When he clocked out at six he still didn't know if he was going to Venice Beach to see Clint's band play. He wasn't good in social situations due to never going to a party or out with groups of people. His stomach turned just thinking about it as he got on his bike and headed home. Most of his life he'd spent alone; whether he was at home or outside, he would be by himself. Now he was asked to go to a music venue and..do what exactly? Stand uncomfortably in a corner until the set ended then go home? It wasn't like he would be invited to stay afterwards and actually hangout. Would he?

He arrived home and as he entered the kitchen he heard music coming from his father's study. It was Mozart's Symphony No. 41 in C Major, one of his father's favorites.

There was no dinner made which was no surprise seeing how his father always ate before coming home on most nights. He always had dinner arrangements with someone whether it was a co-worker, or client, or the boss. Since he had no idea what his father did, he only had to take him on his word. Personally, he thought he was seeing someone but didn't want to tell him. It wasn't like he would care. His mother had been dead for a long time now. Eleven years to be exact.

Bruce stared into the refrigerator as the thought of his mother enter his mind. He hadn't thought about her in at least a few months. Not since Mother's Day. His hand started to hurt and he realized he was gripping the door handle so hard his knuckles had turned white. Shutting the refrigerator door, he left the kitchen and was about to go upstairs to his room when he noticed his father leaning against the doorframe to his study.

In Brian's hand was a glass of Maker's Mark, two figures worth. He worked his jaw as he stood staring at his father who was staring right back at him. "I'm giving you a week."

He stared at his father as he asked nervously even though he already feared the answer, "Week for what?"

"To pack your shit and get out."

 _ **Smash...him.**_ "You're kicking me out?" Bruce didn't even put up a fight as he swallowed hard around the lump that'd formed in his throat. His father was kicking him out. _**Smash. Him.**_ His jaw was twitching again as he glared at the man. Then all he could think to say through his anger was, "This is it, isn't it?" He huffed out a laugh that was anything but amused. "Your one last punch to my gut?"

His father just stood there, leaning against the doorframe, and took a sip of the whiskey as he said, "This isn't a punch to the gut. This is you being an adult now. You're eighteen, have a job, done with school...still can't kiss a girl though, which is for the best considering how much of a freak you are."

 _ **SMASH HIM!**_ "Fine, I'll move out, and until then, I no longer have a curfew. You're right, I'm an adult. I don't need my _father_ telling me when to be home." He turned around and walked back into the kitchen as he said over his shoulder, "Don't wait up." _**Coward.**_ "Shut the fuck up!" he yelled as he slammed the back door shut.

Getting on his bike, he wasn't sure where he was going as long as it was as far away from there as possible, which ended up being in the Westchester neighborhood a couple miles from LAX airport. He let his bike fall into the driveway and stumbled up to the door and knocked.

After two knocks the door opened and he saw his Aunt Elaine break into a wide smile as seeing it was him. "Bruce! What a surprise, come in. Jen, Bruce is here!" she called out into the house.

He stepped inside and immediately took his shoes off as his cousin Jennifer came bouncing into the room. She practically pounced on him as she gave him a hug before letting go. Jen was five years younger than him but already nearly as tall. "Long time no see, stranger. Oh my god, what happened to your face?"

Bruce realized that Christmas had been the last time he'd visited his only other remaining family. They were one of the reasons they had originially moved to California three years ago. His father had wanted to start over somewhere new, again, after he'd been laid off after a company merger and downsizing. So they had packed up for the second time in five years and left Nevada for California. Before then it was from his home state of Ohio when he ten.

Even though the Walters family was his family, he'd only actually known them for the last three years. He hadn't even known his father had a sister until they were packing up the house in Nevada. Then he found out from his Aunt Elaine that they had another sister, Susan, who lived out East in Pennsylvania. He had family other than his father, and he hadn't even known about them until he was fifteen years old.

"Crashed my bike on the way here," he lied.

His Aunt didn't look convinced as she asked, "You rode your bike here all the way from West L.A.?"

"Yeah," he said as he took in a deep breath. His lungs still hurt from the long bike ride. "It took me less than an hour."

"Wow," Jen said with a wide smile. "You could be an Olympic cyclist. It's in Seoul this year. That's in South Korea."

"I don't really care about the Olympics, Jen," he said and saw the excited look on her face drop. _Shit, nice one, Banner._ Now he felt like a jerk. "I'm not into sports..." he finished lamely and sighed as he looked to his Aunt for help. God, he wasn't good at this stuff.

Aunt Elaine took pity on him as she told Jennifer, "Why don't you go set the table for dinner. Food's almost done."

Jen gave him one last soft smile of forgiveness, telling him, "It's okay. I know you're a science geek," before going into the dining room to set the table with real china.

Bruce stepped into the living room as he told Aunt Elaine, "I didn't mean to upset her."

"It's okay. She's just really excited about this year's Olympics. They learned all about it in school and it's all she can talk about." She then looked him over and crossed her arms. "I know you didn't crash your bike, Bruce."

He stared at her for a long moment then asked, "Can we talk?"

The way he said that cause her to suddenly look concern but before she could voice it, his Uncle Morris interrupted. "Dinner is done," he said as he walked into the room and spotted him standing there. "Bruce, hey, how're you? Congrats."

"I'm good, Uncle Morris, thanks."

Morris looked back-and-forth between Aunt Elaine and him and then said, "Have you eaten dinner yet?"

"Uhhh, no, but I don't want to intrude."

"You're not. I grilled enough steaks to feed the whole neighborhood. Elaine got me a new propane one for my birthday. Come on, grab a plate."

"Now I won't have to cook dinner all summer long," he heard his Aunt whisper in his ear, causing him to chuckle as they entered the dining room.

He ate slowly, feeling the pull of his bruised adominal muscles made it hard to concentrate on the conversations around the table. Jen did most of the talking as she excitedly talked about her summer plans of continuing gymnastics and something about training to be a lifeguard.

"Have any plans for the summer, Bruce?"

He looked up from his half eaten steak and potatoes and saw everyone looking at him. Shifting uncomfortably in the chair, he said, "Work."

Morris smiled a little as he asked, "Heard back from any colleges yet?"

"Some," he said as he went back to stabbing his fork into his pieces of steak. "Caltech, UCLA, Harvard and a few others out East, but...I don't know which one I want to attend yet. I've got a few scholarship opportunities as well."

"You should go to UCLA," Jen said, "that way you can stay here."

That was actually the last thing he wanted to do. No offense to his family, but he just did not like it in L.A. He could care less about the Hollywood scene, the movie stars, and the beach. Everything about the city he didn't want to have any part of anymore. And that included his father. He wanted to get as far away from that man as humanly possible.

He smiled slightly at his cousin as he told her, "We'll see."

"You don't want to leave us, do you?" she protested.

"Jen," Aunt Elaine scolded her, causing Jen to pout and go back to eating. "It's Bruce's decision. No matter what he decides, we'll be very proud of him."

This was all so weird as he smiled a little at his Aunt. He wasn't used to all this praise and general normal family time. It was usually why he didn't say much when he visited and did visit very often; half the time he never knew what to say or how to respond. All he ever had growing up was his father, and they barely spoke to each other. When Brian was there, it was always tense and quiet before it exploded into chaos. And when his father wasn't there, it was still tense and quiet.

As his Aunt, Uncle, and Jen went back to talking, he went back to eating. He finally finished his plate and was about to get up and take it to the kitchen when Jen stopped him.

"That's my job," she told him as she collected all the plates and utensils and took them into the kitchen.

"I know it's late, but you want some coffee," Morris asked as he stood from the table.

Bruce shrugged a little as he said, "Sure, uh, thanks."

Morris gave him a smile before following after Jen into the kitchen, leaving him and his Aunt alone. He glanced around the dining room and took in the case of fine china and the paintings on the walls and thought that this was what a real family's house looked like. This was what they did during dinner and how they behaved with each other. There wasn't a single piece of artwork in his house except for the posters hanging on his walls. He wasn't even sure if those counted as artwork.

"Something's bothering you." He looked over at Aunt Elaine as he waited for her to continue. "I can tell because you lose all emotion in your face. Everything's in your eyes...just like your father."

Being reminded of how much his was like his father wasn't want he wanted to hear right then. He knew logically that his Aunt didn't mean anything by it, but he couldn't help how it made him feel. "I'm nothing like my father," he gritted out before getting up from the table. "I should go."

"Wait, Bruce, I didn't mean you were like him. I was only-"

"Everything okay?" Morris asked as he walked into the dining room.

Bruce could tell that he was suddenly on alert by the tensing of his muscles and the look in his eyes. _**Big man.**_ _He's my Uncle._ He stopped himself from flinching at the sight of the tall intimidating man who was his Uncle as he shook his head. _**Big man always step on little man.**_ _He helped me before, remember?_ He stepped away without saying a word. His jaw hurt too much to work it loose to speak anyway. _**Only for his wife...He doesn't care about Banner. Show him who's the strongest there is! Show him you are a big man too!**_ "No, it's okay...I have to go," he said as he walked away.

No one tried to stop him as he left the house and grabbed his bike up. Checking his watch, he saw it was only a little after eight. He had plenty of time to make it before the start of the set. Up until that point he still hadn't been sure if he was going or not. Overall it was the way he was feeling that decided it for him. He was incredibly pissed off and the bike ride wasn't helping to ease his anger any.

He hated when he felt like this. On one hand, he felt like curling up into a ball and screaming. On the other, he wanted to go home and break every bone in his father's body. He did neither as he tried to shut his emotions down and he knew the best way to do it. Making a detour back around his high school, he rode up into the driveway of seventeen year old Rick Jones and immediately went into the open garage. That garage was always open and Rick was nearly always stretched out on the couch along the far wall.

Tonight the red-headed, blue eyed rocker was picking at a guitar, stereo headphones on his head, and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. At seeing him ride up, Rick smiled, dropped the guitar, and pulled off the headphones then unplugged the headphones from the stereo jack. _"Cops in car, and topless bars, never saw a woman so alone...So alone..."_ The Doors' song "L.A. Woman" filled the garage as Rick said, "Hey, Bruce! How's it going?...Wait, is it Bruce?"

 _ **It won't work.**_ "Yeah, it's me," he said as he rode the bike around in a circle before stopping. He didn't get off it as he pulled his backpack off his shoulders and dug around for his wallet.

Rick was the only person who knew about his condition. They'd met three years ago in high school when Rick had been Ken's victim of choice. One day, when Rick was arriving at school, Ken had tried to actually hit him with a car. He'd seen what Ken was about to do and rushed out into the street and shoved Rick out of the way in time. The car had barely missed him or else he was sure he would be in a wheelchair today.

Since that day they'd been friendly with each other. Then once Rick started selling weed to help his single mother pay rent he'd been his first repeat customer. Rick was already going through a box on top of a plastic patio table in the corner near the weight bench. _"Motel money murder madness, let's change the mood from glad to sadness..."_ Jim Morrison sung out as he walked over and took the money from him as he handed him a long thin box that could pass for an incense box if checked.

"Sticking around? I got one ready for you," Rick said as he held a joint up in his hand. "Take a load off."

 _ **You can't silence me for long.**_ "Long enough," Bruce muttered as he stuffed the box in his bag as he thought about it while he looked at the time. It would take him less than half an hour to get to Venice Beach and it wasn't even nine yet. "Yeah, okay" he said as he took it and got off his bike.

 _"Mister mojo risin'..."_ Jim Morrison's voice sung out.

Sitting down next to Rick, he dropped his bag to the floor beside the couch and looked out over the empty swimming pool in the backyard. He couldn't remember a time when there was actually water in it. Rick prefered to skateboard in it instead of swimming.

 _"Mister mojo risin'..."_

Picking up a lighter off the small coffee table in front of him, he lit up the joint. He leaned back into the couch as he took his first hit while staring out at the sun setting over the houses and palm trees.

"So, uh...Mind if I talk to Joe?"

He blew out the smoke as he looked over at him in confusion. "Why?"

Rick shook his head. "If it's going to be a problem, never mind. He's a funny guy, that's all."

"And I'm not?" he asked in all seriousness as he took another hit.

 _"Mister mojo risin'..."_

Rick lit up his own joint and gave a shrug. "You can be, but most the time you're...serious and uptight."

"Thanks."

"Just being honest," Rick said with a laugh as he leaned back on the couch.

Bruce went back to staring out at the setting sun and sighed as he felt his body relax. Closing his eyes, he took another, longer, draw off the joint before blowing the air out as he opened his eyes. Rolling his head on the back of the couch, he looked over at Rick. "You called?"

Rick smiled a little as he asked, "Joe?"

"Is this a social visit or are you just going to keep staring at me all night?"

 _"Mister mojo risin'..."_

Rick picked up the controller for the garage door and hit the button to lower it. He tossed it on the table as he said, "Bruce still doesn't know about us?"

Joe watched Rick's eyes roam over his body as he licked his upper lip. He took another long draw, held it for a moment longer, and then let it out before telling him, "He prefers peeping into neighbors windows to get himself off than to have actual physical contact with another human being." He leaned into Rick as he reached over to put his joint down and smiled slightly as he said, "I, on the other hand, love the feel of a person's body against mine." He ran his hand up along Rick's thigh before leaning in for a kiss.

 _"Got to keep on risin'..."_

TBC...

P.S.: Just a few notes. Of course Bruce's life is going to be drastically different since Brian didn't get put into a mental institution but instead raised him. Also, he doesn't consciously remember the night of his mothers' death. He just knows what he's been told by Brian and we'll get to that later in the story.

And as for Bruce's voyeuristic tendencies, I think it fits his character, especially in this AU. He is struggling with not only his own identity but his sexual identity as well. I wouldn't say he's not comfortable with it, but with all the abuse he's suffered feeling any type of pleasure could seem like a bad thing whether from a girl or a boy. And yes, I'm writing him as bisexual for this story.

P.S.S: Disclaimer on all songs used within this chapter and future chapters to come.

Now, onward...


	2. Chapter 2

_**Son of Rage and Love**_

Ch. 2

* * *

Every time he rode along the boardwalk of Venice Beach it felt like he was in an episode of The Twilight Zone. As muscle-heads worked out along the strip, a group of roller skaters rushed by with barely any clothes, making all the men and women turn their heads to watch. Guys on skateboards wearing cut-off tank tops and trucker hats and too short shorts skated around him as he let the bike coast along the street as he drummed his hands along as The Cure's "Close to Me" played in his head.

Surfers came in from the water and were setting up firepits now that the sun was nearly over the horizon, ending their day in the waves. Lights flashed and blinked as the night life took over. As some people headed home others flocked to the night clubs and beach parties that were getting under way.

He found a relatively safe place near the Rip Chord to park his bike and chained it to a pole. The street was packed with people from all over but mostly punk rock kids with spiked multi-colored hair, leather jackets, customized blazers with torn jeans or tight as hell leather pants. He felt out-of-place but not caring as he easily glided undisturbed through the crowd. The Rip Chord was a pink and green painted building on the corner. Words, phrases, and images were spray painted over nearly square reachable inch of it; all with the common theme of one thing: Anarchy.

As soon as he walked in, he heard a band doing a cover of The Clash's "The Guns of Brixton" and looked up to see if it was Clint's band. There were three guys, one on electric guitar doing the singing, a bass player, and the drummer who wasn't Clint. Moving along the far wall, he stayed as far back as possible as the crowd inside were jumping up-and-down and pushing each other around as they danced along to the music.

Leaning against the wall near the corner, he watched the erupting chaos around him and took a deep breath. He had left his backpack in Rick's garage, not having enough time to go home first, and without it he felt a little lost and exposed. He did have the foresight to bring along a joint with him in case he needed to calm down. From the high octane energy he was feeling inside that building, he was certain he was going to need it.

The band ended and the crowd cheered and hollered obscene phrases as the band collected their instruments and hurried off the stage for the next band. Bruce rubbed his hands together as he fought the urge to leave as he waited for the next band to take the stage. The lights weren't too dim but it was enough to make him jittery as he couldn't see the whole floor or all the people.

Swarms of people were going by in front of him, some hanging over each other with their arms around their shoulders or with hands in back pockets of the other persons pants. Most were drinking and he wasn't sure where the alcohol was coming from but didn't really care as he crossed his arms and stayed as invisible as possible, which was actually working.

Cheering and hollaring started up again as the new band came onto the stage and started setting up. At first he only saw the bass player and electric guitarist then Bruce pushed up from the wall as he saw not only Clint setting up the drum kit but the lead singer who was adjusting the mike. It was the girl he'd met the night before. Natasha. They were both wearing matching black leather outfits and jackets. He noticed that Clint had his short blond hair spiked up as he picked up the drum sticks and sat down.

Once everyone was ready, Clint set the tone as he pounded out a rapid fast beat and into the band's first song. Natasha's voice was a perfect blend of sarcasm and angst that fueled the lyrics about misunderstood youth, social isolation, anger at the state the country was in and the war with the Soviets. Clint never stopped pounding on the drums and flawlessly went from one song to the next and mostly with his head thrown back and tongue sticking out. He wasn't sure what happened but in the middle of one song, during a guitar solo, Cling stripped off the jacket and tore his shirt completely off before picking right back up at the chorus without missing a beat.

By the annoucement from Natasha that they were about to do their last song, he was nearing the edge of the stage. It was then that Natasha caught his eyes as she looked over. For a moment she was confused before recognition caused a soft smile to appear on her face.

That caused Clint to look over and with seeing him, broke out into a wide grin as he shouted, "Bruce! This one's for you."

Natasha approached Clint and they shared some words that he couldn't hear but he knew it was about him as she pointed at him. Clint started laughing and shook his head.

"Okay," Natasha said into the mike as she strutted her way around the stage. "Last song and I know it's not a punk song, but we're going to make it one. So far it's become a crowd favorite and it's tons of fun. Sing along if you know it."

Bruce watched as Clint started off with an insane drum solo that had the crowd jumping going before launching into, to his surprise, "Rebel Rebel" by David Bowie. Yeah, not a punk song but the cover they did of it was ridicuously good.

"You've got your mother in a whirl, she's not sure if you're a boy or a girl. Hey babe, your hair's alright, hey babe, let's go out tonight..." Natasha sung as she danced over the stage as Clint's steady drum beat kept pace. "You like me, and I like it all. We like dancing and we look divine...You love bands when they're playing hard, you want more and you want it fast. They put you down, they say I'm wrong, you tacky thing, you put them on..."

The crowd started in singing along with her to the chorus, "Rebel Rebel, you've torn your dress. Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess. Rebel Rebel, how could they know?"

She looked right at him and winked as she sung, "Hot tramp, I love you so!"

By the second repeat of the lyrics, the crowd was pounding on the stage to the beat of the song and yelling out the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Bruce kept to the very back edge of the stage as he watched.

Clint yelled out before picking up the last verse to a rapid fire drum beat, "You've torn your dress, your face is a mess, you can't get enough, but enough ain't the test. You've got your transmission and your live wire. You got your cue line and a handful of ludes, you wanna be there when they count up the dudes. And I love your dress, you're a juvenile success, because your face is a mess. So how could they know?! I said, how could they know!" he screamed out before ending the song to the cheers and applause.

Natasha turned to him as they started off and motioned for him to come up on stage. He went over to the steps that led up the side and quickly left the stage with her into the back where the next band waiting to go on were gearing up. Off to the far left, by a side door, he spotted the guitar and bass player of Clint and Natasha's band carrying their instruments out the door and into an awaiting van.

"Bruce!" Clint yelled out as he came up to him and pulled him into a hug that took him by surprise. His body stiffened as he yelled into his ear, "You made it!"

He could smell the beer on his breath but tried not to let it bother him as he gave him an awkward pat on the back while also trying to politely push him away. "You guys were great," he said as Clint finally backed away.

Clint was still bare-chested but had found a blazer to put on. This one was a royal navy blue with military style patches on the shoulders and various band logos and images on the front and back. It was then that he noticed the eyeliner Clint was wearing. He smiled at him as he said, "You know Nat? She told me you saved her life, man."

Bruce felt his face heat up as he looked to Natasha. "It wasn't quite as dramatic as life or death."

"You saved her from her ex. Believe me, it was that dramatic," Clint said as he slapped him on the back and asked, "Want a beer?"

He flinched against the slap and told him, "I don't drink."

Clint rolled his eyes and pulled him with him across the floor to where several kegs were set up behind a makeshift bar. He grabbed a red plastic cup full of beer and handed it to him.

Bruce shook his head but accepted it anyway.

"Have you ever had a drink?" Clint asked as he grabbed one and handed it to Natasha.

"No," he said as he looked down at the cup of beer in his hand. The smell of it hit his nose and he swallowed down the urge to get sick.

"He's turning green already," Natasha said next to him as she went to take cup from him.

He stopped her as he said angrily, "I can handle it." He hadn't meant to snap like that, but it unnerved him a little to mocked. Bruce wasn't sure if she meant it that way but he couldn't help the way it sounded. Taking his first drink, he groaned as he swallowed it down and looked down into the cup. "God, that's horrible."

"After a couple drinks, you'll know why it's worth it," Clint said as he came up beside him.

Natasha gave them both a look before taking a sip of hers and then motioned for them to follow her. The back rooms of the club were full of people drinking and partying. Several people were writing on the walls with markers or spray painting over the already spray painted designs as the echo from the band playing on stage out front vibrated the walls. A guy was passed out on the stairs that they climbed and on one of the landings a couple was making out against the wall. Bruce watched them for a few seconds longer than he should have before turning his head to the front as he kept heading up the steps after Natasha with Clint right behind him.

They had to stop walking and move over to the side of the stairs to let a group pass. Bruce felt Clint slid right up behind him and put his hand on the small of his back. He felt himself tense at the touch before they started moving again. He didn't know why Clint was so touchy-feely, but if he didn't stop it, he was going to have to leave. The hand on his back slightly shoved him forward and he continued up the stairs.

He wasn't sure where they were going until the door at the top opened and they were on the roof of the building. There weren't as many people up there and it was a beautiful night. And he could finally breathe. There were tables and chairs and a few old worn down armchairs and couches against the low hanging walls around the edges of the roof. They all three fell onto a couch, Natasha on one side of him with Clint on the other.

"So, what do you do?" Natasha asked him after a moment of silence.

Bruce took another cringe-worthy drink of the beer before answering, "As in...what, exactly?"

"Life. Besides rescuing girls from their crazy ex boyfriends."

"I work," he told her before taking another drink.

"Whatcha do?" Clint asked from the other side of him.

WIth being between the both of them he started to feel a little trapped. Bruce shifted on the couch and told them, because it wasn't just Clint wanting to know the answer, "Janitor at UCLA."

"You're smart enough to teach there; why're you mopping the floors?"

He looked over at Clint as he told him matter-of-factly, "Because I don't have a degree to teach there."

"Good point."

"It's a job," he finally said after another drink as he looked around at the other gathered groups of teenagers and young adults. It was starting to get crowded. "They let me have access to the labs and I get to talk to any professor I like...It's okay." After taking a few more drinks of the beer, he emptied the cup and groaned.

"Want another?" Natasha asked.

He shook his head. "I can't deal with another." He heard Clint laugh as he pulled out the joint instead and lit it up.

"You don't drink but you smoke pot?" Clint said as he watched him and took a drink of his own beer.

He blew out the smoke as he told him, "It helps to calm me down."

"And what do you think beer would do to you?" Natasha asked before taking a drink.

He thought about it for a moment before telling her, "I don't know, but from my experience, it makes people angry...That's not something I want to find out."

"Awww, where's the fun in that. Anger's the best part of youth. You get to be angry and cause as much destruction as possible while still claiming ignorance and youthful rebellion," Clint said as he shot up off the couch. "This is the time of your life that you get to be completely free of all of lifes burdens before adulthood takes over, and you want to spend it being calm?"

Bruce stared up at him as he took a hit off the joint before saying, "As a matter of fact, yeah, I do."

Clint looked down at him, giving him some thought before downing the rest of his beer. Throwing the cup over the side of the roof to the ground below, he said, "Screw that." He pointed at him and said, "I see it in you, man. The part that wants to rage against everything and everyone. Yeah, right there," he said as he came closer and put his finger right between his eyes.

He couldn't help it, he laughed. "You're drunk."

"So?! I still see it. You have to let it out. Let it out and let it go, man. Just let go," he said as he turned and saw the guy that walked out onto the roof. "Shit."

He looked over and tensed as he saw the kid who had assaulted Natasha last night. His dark black hair was sticking out from all sides tonight and he was only wearing a white t-shirt and black leather pants. The shirt was torn on the seams and held together by safety pins. He couldn't help but look over at Natasha and saw her face go stoic as she stared at her ex. Bruce still couldn't believe she dated that guy.

It didn't take long before he noticed Natasha sitting on the couch. As he started over his eyes landed on him and he stopped for a moment. There was a moment of confusion on his face, much like Natasha's from earlier, before recognition set in. Then, and unlike Natasha, his face turned into fury as he stormed over to him.

"Shit," he repeated Clint's sentiment as a pair of hands grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to his feet.

Both Clint and Natasha were on the guy before he could think of what to do. His usual response was to stand there and take the hits. There was no fist thrown as Clint grabbed on arm and pulled it back as Natasha got between the two of them.

"Eric," she yelled as she push her ex back. "Leave him alone and back off."

Eric fought back against Clint who was trying to keep him from breaking free from his hold as he went off on him. The slurred shouts of obscenities that he spat out caused everyone on the roof to stop and stare.

The pounding in Bruce's head was deafening as the blood rushed to his head as he took a step back ready to walk away. It was getting hard to breathe, to keep focus, as his hands fisted. _**Do what Punk boy say! Let go and-**_

"Bruce?" He heard Natasha's faint voice in his head as Eric suddenly turned on Clint and punched him right in the face.

 _ **-Smash him.**_ He didn't remember what happened after that. Everything went quiet as his vision blurred. One moment he was watching Clint fall backwards and the next he was on top of Eric slamming his head back into the rooftop with his fist.

As he pushed Eric's face into the rooftop, he leaned down and whispered into his ear, "Now who's the strongest, puny cry baby," right before he drew back and hit him again.

It took Clint, Natasha and two other guys to pull him off and he was kicking at the guy on the ground the whole time he was dragged away. His back hit something hard as a weight pressed down on his chest and hands were fighting with his own as they tried to hold him down.

"Bruce?! Hey, man, it's me. It's Clint. Stop trying to fight me, I'm trying to help you...Stop!" His vision cleared and he saw Clint staring down at him in worry. "Can you hear me?! Are you okay?"

He groaned and closed his eyes and nodded his head. It hurt to breathe and he wasn't sure why until he tried to get up and couldn't move. He opened his eyes again and saw the reason; Clint was sitting on his chest.

"That was incredible. You just snapped and, holy shit...You beat the hell out of him!"

 _ **Ha! Weak Banner didn't do anything. It was Hulk!**_ _He did what?_ Bruce pushed Clint off him as he sat up to see Eric still on his back with his hands over his face and crying. The guy was actually crying in pain. "I didn't..."

"Yea ya did, and it was awesome."

"No, I-" he heard the echo in his head as he shook it in disbelief "...you hurt him," he spoke under his breath. _**You're welcome.**_

"It was nothing he didn't deserve," Clint tried to tell him as he helped him to his feet. "Nobody likes that guy, especially after the way he treated Nat. Do not think for a second that anyone will hate you for this. I mean...look at you?" he said as he shoved him a little and gestured up and down. He took his arm and held it up in his as he announced to the gathered crowd, "The winner!"

As everyone cheered, real chaos erupted. Through all the sirens and flashing red and blue lights, he wasn't sure how he got off the roof to the ground but he remembered running until he couldn't run anymore before Clint grabbed him and pushed him to run some more.

By the time they slowed to a stop, it was on a golf course and he tumbled onto the green and laid there on his back while sucking in a deep breath of air. He heard laughing and looked over to see Clint bent over on his knees laughing.

After sucking in a strangled breath, he asked, "Where's Natasha?"

"Right here."

Bruce turned onto his side and saw her coming up behind him. She didn't even look like she'd broken a sweat as she jogged to a stop next to him. "Why'd the hell were we running?"

"Everyone else was," Clint said before laughing harder. "Cops decided to break up all the fun."

"That happen a lot?" he asked as he rolled back over onto his back and closed his eyes as his head felt dizzy like it was swimming.

Natasha was the one who answered as she said, "Only every other week. They keep it interesting," she deadpanned and he couldn't help but laugh.

 _ **Never listen, Banner, told you big trouble.**_ He felt her take his hand and opened his eyes to look at her in confusion before noticing how badly they hurt. They were cut and bleeding around his knuckles and starting to swell. Natasha pulled out a napkin from her pocket and started dabbing up the blood.

"Might need some stitches there fighter."

He hissed and pulled his hand away. "It wasn't me," he quietly said as he rubbed at his bruised hand.

Natasha gave him a look as she said, "I get it. We've all done things that we never thought we would, or could, ever do. It's us, but not us."

 _ **Red know nothing.**_ He stared at her for a long moment before nodding. "Something like that."

"What he needs is a Heavy Weight Champion of the World title belt," Clint remarked.

Bruce moaned and closed his eyes as he felt his stomach churn as everything hit him at once. His nerves, the sudden lack of adrenaline, and then the mixture of beer with his stomach acid. "I think I'm-"

"Ought-oh, I think he's-" he heard Clint say right before he rolled over and threw up.

After taking a moment to calm down, they all got up and started walking off the golf course. Without talking about it, it was mutually decided to take Natasha home first since she lived nearby.

They arrived at her house and told her good night. Bruce was sure this was the last time he would see her. He didn't think any of them would want to talk to him again after he'd embarrassed himself in front of them by getting sick, so he was surprised at that Natasha gave him a hug and told him to call her some time and they'd hang out.

"I'm sure Clint will fill you in on our next gig. You should come out."

"I'll think about it," he told her even though he couldn't believe she still wanted him to call her.

The same went for Clint. As they walked all the way back to their neighborhood, Clint talked the whole time about their gig next Friday night in Malibu at some private party. They had no idea who requested them for the party, all they knew was that it was at some rich kids mansion in the hills. There were several bands approached and told each member would get paid two hundred bucks a piece to play.

"And you have no idea who hired you?" Bruce asked as they turned on his street.

"No, man, that's the weird part. It was like he couldn't say who he was representing. It has to be some rich actor's kid or something. Some real asshole, but hey, it's two hundred dollars. The gigs we do now, we barely make a hundred to split between all four of us."

"So," Bruce said as they turned onto his street, "this is a private party?"

"That's right."

"It's nice that you invited me, but I doubt I'm on the guest list."

Clint thought about it before telling him, "We'll figure it out, I'll just say you're with the band. You could be our sound/tech guy. Make sure all our equipment's in working order." They came to a stop at the front of his house and he looked around the neighborhood and gave a nod. "T'is nice."

Bruce shrugged as he looked about that house and noticed all the lights off. As he looked back at Clint, he told him what he had wanted to tell his Aunt Elaine earlier, "I got kicked out today. My father he, uh...he gave me a week to pack up and leave."

Clint stared at him for a while and said in disbelief, "You? How the hell did a guy like you get kicked out of his house? He catch you smoking pot or with a girl in your bed?"

He would have laughed at that but couldn't find the humor in all of it. Shaking his head, he told him, "He hates me. I mean that. He literally hates my guts. Now that I'm graduating, he no longer has any parental obligations. It's his house and I'm an unwelcomed guest."

The flash of realization lit up Clint's eyes and he nodded in understanding. "That's why."

"Why what?" he asked in confusion as he stared right back at him.

Clint just shook his head and stepped away. "Nothing. Hey, man, if you ever need a place to crash. My door's always open."

"I don't even know where you live."

"2261 Federal Avenue. If ya want, come by in the morning and we'll go out for pancakes," Clint said as he started walking backwards. "Just ask for me when you get there."

"Federal Avenue, that's only three blocks away. It's an industrial district."

Clint smiled as he said, "I'm an industrical guy. See ya."

As he watched him walk away, he asked, "Want pancakes?" _**Hulk love pancakes.**_ "Thanks...for back there." _**Punk boy needed help.**_ "Stop calling him that. It's Clint," he said as he walked across the carport to the back door. _**Banner's Punk boy's boy now?**_ He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "Why would you say that?" When he didn't get a response, he asked again as his hand gripped the knob so hard his knuckles turned white. "Why?" _ **You know why. Done talking now. Go to sleep.**_

He got into bed and laid there for a long time staring at the ceiling as he tried to understand. Before he could ever reason it out, he fell asleep.

Saturday morning came all too soon as the sunlight broke through the blinds and right into his eyes. Everything in his body hurt; from his feet to his head, he ached. The worse part was his right hand. It was on fire and throbbing. _Damn it_ , he thought, he should have taken care of it before going to bed last night, but he'd been too tired. Groaning into his pillow, he blinked his eyes into the sunlight and immediately regretted it as he winced at the pain that shot through his head.

Rolling over onto his back, he covered his eyes with his arm and cursed the day. He had to figure out what he was going to do, where he was going to live. First, he had to figure out how to get out of bed, which ended with him just rolling out onto his feet and leaning on his thighs until his head stopped spinning. As he sat there, he went to inspect the damage and saw that there were a couple of butterfly and knuckle bandages over the cuts...He didn't do that. Looking around the room, he spotted a towel hanging on the back of his desk chair that hadn't been there last night. He never left towels hanging around like that, but Joe did. He ran his hand over his hair and confirmed that he'd had taken a shower last night as well.

He must have gotten up in the middle of the night. Bruce rubbed at his head as he tried to remember but knew it was worthless. All he received in return was a headache, no memories, just pain. Fighting back a yawn, his only thought was how he needed coffee. Getting up off the bed, he headed to the kitchen but made a detour to the bathroom. Steam was covering the mirror and still thick in the air; his father had just finished showering and was most likely dressed and in the kitchen already.

He really didn't want to see his father today, or for the rest of the week. It was getting hard to breathe as he thought about confronting his father after last night. He couldn't deal with it today...He just couldn't. _**Then don't.**_

Looking up into the mirror, he smiled as he started to sing to himself, " _Hey Joe_ ," as he straightened up and picked up a comb. " _Where you goin' with that gun of yours?"_ Joe sung as he took his time getting cleaned up. " _Hey_ _Joe, I said where you goin' with that gun in your hand...Oh I'm goin' down to shoot my old lady...You know I caught her messin' 'round with another man...And that ain't cool."_

Whereever Brian was, he wasn't in the kitchen by the time he got down there. However the coffee was already brewed. Still singing the Jimi Hendrix song under his breath, he pulled down a cup and poured himself a cup of coffee. _"Huh, hey Joe, I heard you shot your mamma down, you shot her down now. Hey Joe, I heard you shot your lady down, you shot her down in the ground, yeah."_

A moment later the father in question walked in. Without looking at him, Joe sat down and rubbed his hands over his face and brought the cup up to his lips to take a drink." _Yes I did,"_ he continued singing to himself, _"I shot her. You know I caught my old lady messin' 'round town..."_

"Just because you're moving out soon doesn't mean that as long as you're still in my house you can be disrespectful. Put a shirt on when you're in my kitchen."

Joe stopped sining and looked down at his bruised chest and then back up at Brian. Their father glared down at him as he dropped the newspaper in front of him on the table. He could tell he was angry, but what did he expect? Joe wasn't Banner; he didn't fetch the man's paper like some obedient dog. He huffed out a laugh as he told him, "Gotta fetch your own paper now, huh pop?"

Brian glared down at him as he said, "What'd you say?"

"That tough guy shit may work on Banner, but it sure as hell doesn't work on me. And we're not moving out, you're kicking us out. There's a difference," he said as before taking a bigger gulp of the coffee.

He stood confused for a moment before an sly smirk spread over his face, "Joe."

 _"And I gave her the gun..."_ The hand shot out faster than Joe could react as the cup went flying out of his hand and shattered onto the floor. _"And I shot her!"_

He was up across the table before Brian had time to blink. His fist collided with Brian's face and it hurt like hell as the cuts from the night before split back open on impact. As he watched Brian stumble back into the stove, Joe shook his head at the sudden rage that nearly sent him to his knees. _**HULK TURN!**_ His vision blurred as he leaned on the chair right before his fisted hands gripped the edges of the back rest and picked it up. _**Hulk smash Father like I smashed cry baby!**_

Brian had recovered and his fury matced his own as he pushed off the stove. He didn't give him time to cross the floor as he swung the chair back and charged at him. His swing caught Brian in the right shoulder and right side of his head but he was able to grab the legs of the chair and hold on as he pulled on it. Instead of trying to pull the chair back, he went with Brian's momentum, pushing him back until he stumbled to the floor and he landed, with the chair, on top of him.

He could see Brian hurt and struggling under the chair, causing a twisted smile to spread over his face as he got up and lifted the chair over his head. His grip on the chair weakened suddenly as he stumbled back and dropped the chair as a pain burst through his head. "Stttooooop!" he screamed out as he gripped his head and hit his knees.

The agony in his head was overwhelming as he fisted his hair and hit the side of his head with his own palm. As quickly as the pain erupted it was gone and he was left sitting on his knees, hands cradling his head, and barely able to breathe. Opening his eyes, he glared over at Brian who was sitting up against the wall just watching him. A mixture of horror, confusion, and hate raging in his eyes.

"Are you okay? They...I, didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked as he stared at the blood dripping from a cut on the right side of his father's head.

His father got up and stared down at him as he shook his head. "Always knew you were a monster, freak." As he walked away, he told him, "Clean this place up."

Bruce watched as he left the kitchen then peered around the room at the mess that'd been made. Doing as he was told, he cleaned up the kitchen before pouring himself a cup of coffee and then going back upstairs. He went into the bathroom first to re-bandage his injured hand. As he stood in front of the mirror and looked over his bruised chest from where Ken had hit him, he noticed the other faint scars on his skin. They were from various objects his father had used to beat him with over the years. There was a longer scar on the side is his head, under his hair, from a glass bottle that was thrown at him when he was eleven. He still remembers sitting in the ER with blood dripping down his head as his father told the doctor that he'd been in a fight with an older boy. His father had forced him to give a false statement to the doctor and a police officer to confirm the lie. It hadn't been the first time.

After that incident, his father had gotten more careful. Everything, all the bruises and cuts and broken bones, documented as injuries inflicted by school bullies. The biggest bully of them all was his own father. The cuts on his arms were different though. His father hadn't been the one to inflict those scars.

That had happened after he was suspended for the rest of the school year and when he thought his life was totally fucked. They were part of the reason he had to have court appointed counseling. He wasn't sure if the therapy helped or not, but he hadn't thought about suicide since so he figured it worked well enough. It had been a challenge during those sessions to keep them from finding out about the other guys, but he soon realized that if he was quiet and only told them what they wanted to hear then they didn't dig too deep.

 _ **We need to do something about Jerk boy.**_ He leaned on the sink counter with both hands and dropped his head as he shook it. "Why this sudden interest in Ken? And since when is it _we_? There hasn't been a "we" for almost a year until last night. You stopped helping-" _**That 'cause Banner started bottling Hulk up-**_ "I had to. You started to become...too dangerous." _**Look at Hulk...Look!**_ Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head and opened his eyes to be staring at himself in the mirror. Stalking behind him was a Herculean sized gray colored beast. They had the same brown eyes, same smirking smile, and same beating heart. _**If HULK dangerous, SO. ARE. YOU.**_

He felt a sharp pain in his hand and looked down at his tight fist and the blood steeping through the bandages. Staring down at his bruised hand and bleeding hand, he felt his stomach turn again and fought down the shame and guilt, but most of all the fear, as he cleaned his hand and reapplied new bandages.

"You hurt two people in less than a day, Hulk," he told him as he left the bathroom and entered his bedroom. _**They deserved it; just like Jerk boy deserves it.**_ "That's too bad, Hulk. I'm not letting you hurt Ken too," he said as he dressed in a pair of gray khakis and a blue long sleeve button-down shirt.

He grabbed his house key and stuffed it into his pocket as he shut his bedroom door and left. Since he didn't have his bike he walked the three blocks over to Federal Avenue and searched along the street for the right address. What he saw when he found it was a car shop. "Barney's Specialty Car Service" to be exact. Looking around, he noticed some mechanics inside working on a Mercedez Benz and BMW. None of them were Clint.

"Can I help you?"

Bruce turned to see a tall burly guy walking toward him while wiping his greasey hands on a rag. The name on the shirt said 'Barney'. "I'm looking for Clint."

Barney looked him over as Bruce did the same. Tattoos covered his arms and he looked like he'd been working out with the body builders down at Venice Beach. The man was built. However, it was his eyes and face that he stared at the most. He had an uncanny resemblance to Clint.

"He's out back," Barney told him with a jerk over his shoulder.

He thanked him before heading around to the back of the building. Clint was buried head first inside the engine of a rusty old Ford truck, humming a song to himself as he worked. He looked up when he approached and smiled wide, "I didn't think I would actually see you again."

"Why's that?" Bruce asked as he stopped infront of the truck and looked it over. It was an all blue '71 Ford F-100.

"I thought for sure me and Nat scared the hell out of you last night," he said with a laugh. "I'm not always that crazy and loud, promise. It's just when I'm performing, the adrenaline kicks in and it's like someone lit a fuse and I ignite. Plus, I'd been drinking. That'll do it too." Clint backed away and pointed to the front seat. "Could you start it up?"

He got in and turned the key; at hearing it roar to life, Clint shut the hood and smiled. "Who's truck is this?"

"Mine," Clint said as he walked around to the driver side and told him, "Move over."

Bruce scooted over as Clint got in. "Yours?"

"Yeah, man. My brother told me if I could get it running I could have it." Smiling over at him, he said, "I got it running." He pulled it out into the alley and looked around. "Where to?"

He was surprised Clint asked him and after a moment's thought directed him to Rick's house. He had to get his bag. After they stopped at Rick's, he then told him to take him back to Venice Bench to retrieve his bike.

"Rick a friend?" Clint asked as they headed toward the beach.

Bruce shrugged a little as he told him, "Not exactly. He's a guy I know."

"Sounds like a friend to me."

'"Is Barney your brother?"

Clint looked over at him and told him, "Yep. I sort-of live there. There're these offices above the garage floor. Barney has one for his office and the other was vacant. He's been letting me stay there until I figure something else out."

"What about your parents?" When he asked that, Clint visibly tensed. "You don't have to answer that."

"It's cool. Our folks left us. This was in Iowa, back in '78. I was seven, Barney was eleven, and I guess they figured he was old enough to raise the both of us so they split. Our dad was the first to leave. He was a drunk and lost his factory job. Then one day he went out for a six-pack and smokes and never came back. Mom lasted for almost a year after that but I guess being a single parent was too much. She dropped us off in front of the courthouse, told us she loved us and to take care of each other and then drove away. Least she told us goodbye first."

Bruce stared straight ahead at the rode and shook his head in disbelief and anger. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Hell, I'd rather it just be me and Barney than live with a parent that didn't even want me."

That hit hard as he thought about him and his father. He understood completely. "I know the feeling."

Clint looked over at him and gave him a small smile. Even though he was wearing those dark sunglasses again, he could see the emphathy. "I didn't mean to be a buzz kill. And if it's any consolation, I want you here."

He blinked back at him, utterly confusion, before turning back to stare out the window. Bruce tried to figure that out; how someone he'd just met liked him so much. He didn't even like himself that much. Not wanting to think about it anymore, he reached over and turned on the radio and heard nothing but static.

"The antenna's missing for the AM/FM," Clint said, "but the cassette player works. Got anything in that bag of yours?"

Bruce went through his backpack and tossed the cassette tapes he had on the seat between them.

Clint picked each one up one-by-one and said, "You've got a diverse taste in music. I like it. Oh, shit, I haven't heard this in a long time. I love the drummer." He stuck the tape in the player and turned the volume up as "My Life" by Billy Joel blared from the speakers.

"I thought punk kids only listened to punk music?"

"I'm not that uptight about it. Johnny, our first lead singer of the band, he would flip shit when we tried to play or listen to anything that wasn't punk. Even if we changed the music to a more punk version, he lost it. We kicked him out and got Nat to sing for us instead. She's ten times the singer he was anyway. We're the only punk band with a girl singer, and she's awesome. She steals the show. I mean, how could she not?!"

"You like her," he said as they pulled up to the side of the Rip Chord.

Clint put the truck in 'park' then turned to face him. "We're friends. I'd be lying if I said she wasn't hot. Any man can see that, but between us...she's not my type."

Bruce just nodded as he opened the door. As he got out, he looked around and realized that the street looked strangely different than it did during the night. It took him a good minute to find the post he'd chained his bike to. He threw it into the back of the truck and got back in it.

Clint went to put it in 'drive' but stopped himself as he turned back to him. "It's cool if you like her."

Bruce found himself staring at him before he shook his head. "I'm not interested. Besides, she's fourteen."

"That never stopped anyone before." Clint realized how that sounded and quickly said, "Not that she's been with a lot of guys or anything. Eric was her first boyfriend and as far as I know, only boyfriend, and he's seventeen. All I'm saying." His eyes widened as he said, "Let's go pick her up." He dug around his pocket and pulled out some change. "We need to give her a call first to make sure she's up or even home...You have her number?"

"I got it," he said as he took the change and jumped back out the truck and crossed the street to the pay phone and made the call. Luckily she was awake and answered the call herself and not her parents. Going back over to the truck and getting in, he told him, "She'll be waiting."

Once they were driving back toward Natasha's neighborhood, he asked, "What're your plans for today?"

"Packing," he said as thought about the day.

"Got boxes?"

He looked over at Clint and shook his head as he said, "No."

"Then let's get you some boxes after we eat breakfast."

"Speaking of breakfast, where are we going?"

Clint smiled as he told him, "There's this great place off Sunset. You'll love it. It's pancake heaven."

As they drove over to Natasha's neighborhood, he felt himself start to panic. He wasn't used to this; talking to people and trying to be social. It was all starting to get too much. The stress of having to be present and to conversate and be available emotionally. It was getting harder to breathe as he closed is eyes and felt himself slip.

Opening his eyes, Joe stared out at the passing scenary and leaned back in the seat. Turning his head, he saw Clint "Sid Vicious" Barton at the wheel of the truck. "Where are we going again?"

Sid glanced over at him in confusion as he told him, "To pick up Natasha."

"That's right," he smiled slightly as he took off the eyeglasses and stuffed them down into the backpack. He rolled the window down and leaned his arm out to get more comfortable. Banner sat so rigid and was always wound so tightly he could never relax.

Less than five minutes later, they pulled up in front of Natasha's house and before he could get out, she was walking out. Joe let her in first then got in beside her and then they were off to Sunset Boulevard for pancakes.

"I've got something for you," she told him as she pulled out a pair of sunglasses from her bag. Natasha didn't carry a purse, just a small black tote bag. She put the sunglasses on his face. "There, now you're not such a geek," she told him as he smiled slyly.

He smiled slightly as he said, "You got that right, babe."

As "It's Still Rock and Roll to Me" by Billy Joel started playing, Sid interruped them as he started singing the song, "What's the matter with the clothes I'm wearing?"

Without missing a beat, both him and Natasha sung, "Can't you tell that your tie's too wide?"

"Maybe I should buy some old tab collars?" Sid continued.

"Welcome back to the age of jive." They started clapping and playfully dancing along to the song as they sung, "Where have you been hidin' out lately, honey? You can't dress trashy till you spend a lot of money."

"Everybody's talkin' 'bout the new sound, funny, but it's still rock and roll to me." Sid drummed out the beat on the steering wheel as he really started getting into it. "What's the matter with the car I'm driving?"

"Can't you tell that it's out of style?" Joe sung as Natasha continued to clap along.

"Should I get a set of white wall tires?"

"Are you gonna cruise the miracle mile? Nowadays you can't be too sentimental. Your best bet's a true baby blue Continental." Then both he and Sid sung, "Hot funk, cool punk, even if it's old junk, it's still rock and roll to me."

It wasn't until they sung, "Should I try to be a straight 'A' student?" That Natasha got back into it and poked him in the ribs as she sung, "If you are then you think too much."

"Don't you know about the new fashion honey?" Joe sung out as he leaned against her, pushing her into Clint. "All you need are looks and a whole lotta money."

"It's the next phase, new wave, dance craze, anyways, it's still rock and roll to me," they all finished the song and started laughing as Sid merged onto the 405 and drove toward the Sunset Boulevard exit.

"You're both geeks," Natasha told them.

"If we are than so are you, honey," he told her as he put his head playfully on her shoulder. She playfully pushed him away, causing him to laugh.

They spent the rest of the drive singing along to the songs until "Goodnight Saigon" started playing. He realized Sid had stopped singing and drumming as he focuesed on the road. His expression was hard to read and when he looked at Natasha, all she could offer was a shrug of her shoulder.

Finally he heard him clear his throat as he told them, "My dad was in Vietnam. My mom got pregnant with me right before they sent him over there. I had no idea what he was like before but I was told that the man who came back wasn't the same man who'd left. I didn't know it then but that's why he started drinking all the time and probably why he left us. He was still there, you know, in his head...He never left that place." He was quiet for a moment then said, "I don't want that to ever be me. Stuck like that and not being able to move forward. Trapped in my own private hell."

Joe turned away as he swallowed hard as he leaned his head back to stare out the window. He feared that as well. Not only being trapped inside Banner but also all of them trapped in the shadow of their father's rage and anger and inside their own fear. He wouldn't be like that either. Banner could cower all he wanted and hide away from the world. Bury himself in his work and science and fear.

Joe wasn't like that. He wasn't afraid of anything. _**Not even Hulk?**_ He smiled as he thought, _not even you, big guy._

He felt Natasha grab his left arm and bring it up to wrap around her shoulders. Not taking his eyes off the passing scenery of buildings, houses, and palm trees, he gave her shoulders a light squeeze as he drifted in thought. It wasn't too long after that Sid was taking the exit onto Sunset as they entered West Hollywood. They drove past the Roxy Theater, the House of Blues, and several comedy clubs before they pulled onto a side street and parked.

For the better part of the morning they took up a booth in the back of the diner eating and talking about nothing important, just favorite bands and movies. Joe learned that Natasha was a ballet dancer when she wasn't singing in Sid's band.

"I'm in a production of _Swan Lake_ and have recitals for the next two weeks then opening night's the weekend after the 4th of July."

"You're in _Swan Lake_? That's incredible, you must be pretty good."

She looked away as she smiled a little, "Have to be."

"She's not just good, she's perfect and that's the problem," Sid said as he took a big bite out of his pancakes. Joe opted for the french toast once he saw the picture in the menu for them. "I'm losing my lead singer for the summer to a ballet."

"Why don't you sing," Natasha shot back at him. "You have an amazing voice. Bruce, tell him."

He looked to Sid as he deadpanned, "You suck." Natasha smacked him and he laughed as he said, "I'm kidding. You're good."

Sid rolled his eyes as he said, "If I wanted to sing, I would, but I don't. I want to drum," he stressed as he leaned over the table and pointed his fork at her. "Besides, I can't fill those shiny red platform boots of yours."

"Oh, I don't know about that. With your thighs I think you'll be able to pull them off. Give you a Bowie look."

Joe started laughing at the look on Sid's face right before he felt a kick to his leg. "Ow."

Sid smirked as he said, "Sorry, Bruce, I was aiming for her," as he gestured to Natasha before he kicked under the table again.

At that moment, she jumped back into the booth and yelped. "Stop it, Clint! I swear you're like a little brother I never had, nor wanted."

"I'm older than you," he said as he picked up his glass of orange juice.

"Then act like it," she shot back as she settled back into the seat and took a sip of her coffee.

When he'd been kicked, it stirred something inside him and he felt an ache in his head as he leaned it into the palm of his hands. The spinning in his head didn't stop until he felt the world tilt then shift. Breathing out, he smelt syrup and coffee and fried bacon and his stomach growled. Opening his eye, Bruce took in the table of breakfast foods.

"You're such an asshole, Clint," he heard Natasha say next to him.

The last thing he remembered was being in the truck on the way to pick her up. _It had to have been Joe,_ he thought. _That's fine, as long as it wasn't Hulk or..._

"Want to catch a movie sometime?" Clint asked as he looked right at him. "Since I started working on the truck, I've been dying to take it to the drive-in. Wanna go?"

Bruce was surprised that Clint was asking him and not Natasha. He looked at her then back at him as he gave a nod before finishing off his second cup of coffee of the day. This all felt surreal. He hadn't have this many changes in such a short amount of time in months. He knew it was because of the sudden changes. It was too much to take in at one time. Processing it all, like the fact he had two people that could very well be his friends, it was almost too good to be true. _ **All good things will come to an end. Warning you now. It won't be long...freak.**_

"Do me a favor?" Clint asked him, causing him to look up from staring down at the table.

"What?"

"Stop looking so damn surprised when I ask you to do things with me. It's getting annoying."

Bruce gave a slight nod as he said, "Sorry."

"Another thing. Stop saying sorry."

He went to say 'sorry' again but stopped himself. "Easier said than done. If I had a thing, that's it: apologizing."

"Yeah, well, let's find you a new thing."

After breakfast they rummaged around behind a few buildings in the industral area for boxes because Clint said he refused to let Bruce go buy some when he could get used boxes for free. Natasha kept as look out as they grabbed what they could, even a few empty storage crates, and threw them int the back of the truck before driving him home. His father's car wasn't in the driveway and he breathed a sigh of relief.

 _It'll be okay, Banner. Relax. Your room is just another room...with your stuff in it, that they will see and could possibly mock...What the hell am I doing?_ "You don't have to help me pack," he told them as he clutched a few empty boxes to his chest.

"Nonsense. This gives us the perfect opportunity to check out your room," Clint said as he grabbed some boxes from the back of his truck.

They all three carried the boxes and crates through the house and into his bedroom where both Clint and Natasha took their time looking through all his stuff. He didn't mind, really. It wasn't like he had anything embarrassing hidden under his bed or in the , all his important stuff was in the garage.

"Fan of destruction?" Natasha asked as she pointed to the photo of the atomic nuclear blast.

Bruce shook his head as he went back to organizing a box he was filling with books. "I'm a fan of the physics behind it, but not the geneocide it was used for. Nuclear energy itself isn't a bad thing, manipulating it into weapons of mass destruction is what makes it a bad thing."

"You have a crap ton of books, man. You should own a library," Clint said as he pulled more books out from under his bed. "And not a single porno magazine. I don't know whether to be impressed, concerned, or deeply, deeply, troubled by that knowledge."

He chose to ignore that as he went to his closet and started going through it. There wasn't much he'd collected over the years he'd been in California. Since they moved so often, he never tried to keep anything that wasn't essential. Besides the books, albums, and his clothes, he didn't own much else. All the rest could be thrown in a garbage bag and tossed.

"We could have this room packed in an hour and ready to move you out if you had somewhere to go."

Bruce turned a model rocket over it his hands as he turned to face Clint and then Natasha. "I might have a place. My Aunt and Uncle live near LAX."

"Give them a call," Clint said as he folded the top of a box up.

"Can't, the only phone is in my father's study."

Clint looked at him as he said, "So? Wait, don't tell me. You're not allowed to go in there."

"That, and he keeps it locked," he said as he tossed the rocket into the trash. "I'll rather talk to them in person about it anyway."

"Okay," Natasha said as she picked up a full crate. "We can pack up the truck with what we have and drive you over there. That way when they say yes, we'll be able to start moving you in today. The bigger stuff like your bed, telescope, and stereo will be the only things we'll have to come back for later."

If it were left up to him, he would end up waiting until Friday before getting up enough courage to go talk to them. His whole life he's lived with a man who would give him one direction after another. That was the basis of most of his conversations with his father. Brian would tell him what to do, and he would do it. End of discussion. His opinion or what he thought didn't matter.

So now, it was hard to make up his own mind without someone telling him what it was he was going to do. It was also why he hadn't choosen a college yet. He knew deep down it was because he didn't want to disappoint anyone. What made it worse was that the person he didn't want to disappoint the most was the man who was kicking him out. It shouldn't matter what his father wanted of him, but somehow it did. It seemed to be the only thing that did matter.

"I'd rather wait," he finally said as he picked up another model rocket. "I appreciate it, I do, but he gave me a week and I don't want to rush anything. I can finish packing later, you guys don't have to stay." Truth was, he wasn't ready to leave yet. _**What are you, Banner? Scared?**_ _Terrified_ , he thought as he tossed the rocket into the trash. "I know this isn't what you had planned for a Saturday."

"Tell me something, and I want the truth, Bruce." Once Clint got his attention, he asked, "What happened to your face?"

He stood still in the center of his room as Clint asked him that. _**Don't tell him...**_ Fear washed over him and all he could think about was to lie again even though he asked for the truth. _**Don't do it.**_

"Bruce?"

"Clint," Natasha said as a warning, causing him to look up at the both of them.

"No, it's..." Very much not okay, but he was tired of lying for his father. _**Stupid mistake. Don't know them, don't trust them!**_ Bruce rubbed at his head as he looked over and saw Hulk leaning against the window, arms crossed and shaking his head. His jaw twitched at the sight of him as he answered, "I lied...about why I was late the other night when," he looked over at Natasha, "I took you home. He wasn't too happy about it."

Natasha was the first to say it, "Your father hit you."

"It happens. He'd been drinking and I lied...God, that's a lame ass excuse," he said as he turned around and stared at the remaining books on his shelves. "It doesn't even matter why anymore anyway." _Why did he tell them that?_ _ **Pathetic Banner want friends. Thought Punk boy and Red were friends. But we don't need 'em. Do we?**_ Bruce felt his head shake involuntarily as he heard his voice whisper a soft "No," as his world tilted again.

"You're not staying here any longer, Bruce," Clint told him. "He gave you a week, but it's going to be a day, two at the most. He doesn't want you here, so why give him another chance at finding something else to hit you for. It's obvious he doesn't care about you."

 _ **Who does Punk boy think he is, Robbie? Talking about daddy that way.**_ "What'd you say?" he said as he turned around to face Clint. "Just because your parents abandoned you doesn't mean my dad doesn't care about me. He does, that's why he gets so damn disappointed when I mess up." _**Tell 'em to get out!**_ "Get out!" They both stood staring at him in shock as he yelled, "I want the both of you to leave! Now!"

Clint and Natasha just looked at each other before leaving. He followed them down to make sure they actually left and shut and locked the door behind them. Leaning against he door to try to calm down, he looked over his shoulder when he heard a chuckle.

Robbie flinched when he saw the green beast standing there, laughing. "Go away, Hulk, Robbie doesn't want you here either." He pushed off the door and started for the stairs with his shoulders hunched over and eyes on the floor.

 _ **Hulk leave you alone, Robbie, once I talk to David.**_ He spun around at that and stared wide-eyed at the beast. Shaking his head rapidly, he held his finger to his lips as he said, "Shhh, he'll hear you." _**David!**_ Losing his temper, he yelled out at him, "Don't!" _ **Get David...**_ "Leave, Hulk! Robbie created you, I can take you away!" _ **Nice try, pipsqueak. But Hulk only way to him is through you.**_

Robbie watched as Hulk stalked over to him and leaned down to flick him in his shoulder. The impact was so hard it knocked him to the floor where he slid into the wall. _**Hulk don't have all day.**_ As hot tears rolled down his face, he buried his face in his knees and wrapped his arms around them tight as he yelled out, "Fine! But Robbie mad at Hulk!"

The anger that had been surging through him quickly faded as he breathing evened and his arms relaxed from the death grip he'd had around his knees. He stretched his legs out in front of him as he stretched his back up against the wall. _Why was he in so much pain,_ he thought as he stood and worked out the tension in his neck muscles.

He looked around for the source of it but when he only saw the red colored Hulk standing in the middle of the room, he realized it hadn't been their father this time. _**Now are we going to deal with Jerk boy or what?**_ His smirk was his only response as he went over to the kitchen table where Banner's backpack had been tossed. He grabbed it then headed out the backdoor.

Going into the garage, he found the key to the trunk in the corner hidden in same spot it's been at for three years: behind a loose metal strip in the baseboard. Their father never messed the stuff in the garage. He knew they did science experiments and worked on various projects out there so he kept away except for when he needed something for his car. David unzipped the backpack and grabbed the device and trigger. _ **This one works, right?**_

As he pulled on the backpack, he stared right at Hulk and gave a curt nod as he simply said, "Yeah." Then he left the garage. He got on the bike and started up the street.

Ken Nando was a creature of habit. He knew from following him a few times that he worked at his father's pizza place, "Nando's Pizza", from noon to four on weekends. The red in color '82 Pontiac Firebird parked behind the building was Ken's pride and joy. For almost every school day for the past two years Ken had terrorized the others with that car. He'd almost ran Banner over a few times a year with it and had destroyed Banner's first bike with it not long after he'd bought it.

Then when he'd stolen Banner's helmet, he stuck it on the dashboard as a display like it was a trophy. Joe had broke into the car on night and gotten it back but Ken had caught him before he could get away. And as Ken's friends held Joe down, Ken ran it over a few times before beating Joe into unconsciousness. They should have let him do this a long time ago, save everyone the time, pain, and trouble. _ **That's what Hulk said!**_

He worked his way out from under the car and dusted himself off as he walked back to the bike. Checking the time, David saw it was almost time for Ken to get off work. He picked up the bike and went down the street a little ways and waited behind a parked car. A few minutes later, he saw Ken, big and lumbering, walk around the corner and got into his car. The only indication of his deep hate for that kid was the slight twitch of his upper lip as he watched as the car backed out and then stopped at the corner.

David knew exactly where Ken was going. Him and his friends always gathered at the same spot along the Los Angeles River; which actually wasn't a river right now since the culvert was dry this time of year. It didn't take long for him to reach the fence along the bridge that overlooked the meeting spot. That "river" had been immoralized in a lot of Hollywood films set in L.A. like _Grease_ and _Chinatown._ But there would be no drag races down there today.

He watched calmly as Ken stood beside the car, talking to some girl who said something then leaned against it. Ken suddenly shouted and pushed her away slightly then rubbed his jacket sleeve over the spot she'd leaned on. The patience it took to not go ahead and blow it was unnerving. But, he waited with the trigger in hand and kept watch.

Then, once Ken walked over to a friend's car and leaned into the passenger window, and no one was too close to the blast radius, David calmly said, "Boom," as he hit the button.

A fireball burst into the air as everyone screamed. There was a lot of screaming but his eyes peered through the eyeglasses down at Ken Nando's shocked face as he stared at his precious car was engulfed in flames. His lip twisted into a tight smirk before he tucked the trigger away, stepped on the bike peddles, and left the scene.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I apologize for the long, long, extremely long delay in updating, but I am trying to write every day not only this story but "Something like Human" as well. I will finish both just hang in there.

Song Use: "Kyoto Song" by The Cure.

Warning! Suicidal thoughts and attempt. You've been warned!

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any songs or Marvel characters.

* * *

Ch. 3:

The music in his ears drowned out the noise of the boulevard as cars sped by in the night. Above, below and around him the roads and hills rolled and curved. Cutting through the smell of grass, earth, and trees was exhaust; if he turned his head he would see the lights-red and white-coming and going. Life moving on as he laid there eroding.

"A nightmare of you, of death in the pool, wakes me up at quarter to three. I'm lying on the floor of the night before, with a stranger lying next to me."

The stars twinkled between gray clouds that were highlighted by the beaming light of the moon. With the sky seemingly at his fingertips, his body felt non-existant, non-important, as if it, and he, didn't matter. There was a pressure in his chest; gravity's weight pushing heavily down on top of him, making him sink. The ground was swallowing him whole. Burying him. Dead. Alive. It didn't matter.

"A nightmare of you, of death in the pool, I see no further now than this dream. The trembling hand of the trembling man...hold my mouth to hold in the scream."

Smoke drifted in the air around his face then disappeared...Or was it his breath? Why was he breathing? There was no point and no reason to stay. Every day was the same as the day before and yesterday was never going to end. It was set on "repeat" and every waking moment was another to get hurt, be hurt, and stay hurt, until he hurt something or someone else in return. Rinse, repeat. Same ol', same day, same nothing.

"I try to think, to make it slow. If only here, is where I go. If this is real, I have to see, I turn on fire, next to me."

He'd seen it. It'd been written down and drawn out in vivid detail on the pages of his notebook.

The explosion.

"It looks good, it tastes like nothing on earth. It looks good, it tastes like nothing on earth."

He could feel the heat on his face from the flames, smell the gas in the air from the car, and hear the ignition and boom.

"It's so smooth it even feels like skin, it tells me how it feels to be new."

Not real, only in his head; brought to realization from the drawing. David, despite his pathology, was an artist. The drawing had looked like an actual photograph.

"It tells me how it feels to be new, a thosand voices whisper it true."

His control was slipping more and more as the days, and weeks, and years passed. Wasn't it supposed to get easier, not harder, to control these...switches? That was the best way he could describe how it worked. How he could slip from one personality to another. It was like a switch. On. Off. On. Off. Good. Bad. Sane. Crazy.

" It tells me how it feels to be new..."

He didn't feel happiness from what happened, but he also felt no guilt. Instead, he felt numb. So numb and stuck in a sand trap. Sinking, slowly but deeply, into his own abyss. Into his own darkness and depths. Into his own madness.

"...and every voice belongs, every voice belongs to you."

He was so used to shutting himself down that he had no tools to build himself back up. His emotions were just as much a mystery to him as his other personalities. If it hadn't been for the notebooks, the daily logs of their existance, he would have never known they existed; the only exception being Hulk. The constant voice in his head. Even if he ignored him, his presence was still there, hovering like a bully stalking him in the shadows.

"A nightmare of you, of death in the pool, wakes me up at quarter to three."

As for Clint and Natasha, they were gone now. He'd scared them off. They wouldn't be back. Why would they? Shouldn't he feel something about that? Some sort-of regret?

"I'm lying on the floor of the night before, with a stranger lying next to me."

Loneliness, isolation, fear...heartache, those were things people felt when they lost a friend. Sadness and despair. For him they were just words. Words to describe normal emotions of normal people who had normal lives.

"It looks good, it tastes like nothing on earth. It looks good, it tastes like nothing on earth. It's so smooth it even feels like skin, it tells me how it feels to be new."

What described him, what he felt, was a pull from the ground. A suction that grabbed his body from the depth of Hell, wrapped its rooted arms around his body, and pulled him down slowly. Ever so slowly, like he was sinking in water.

"It tells me how it feels to be new, a thosand voices whisper it true. It tells me how it feels to be new, and every voice belongs..."

A green whirlpool surrounded his fading falling body as the twinkling stars from above vanished into darkness.

"Every voice belongs to you."

He awoke to daylight breaking over the horizon. Blinking into the dawn of the day bouncing off the pavement of the freeway into his eyes, he moaned as he rolled onto his hands and knees. His jacket had been stuffed under his head like a pillow. He stood and shook the dirt off the jacket as he looked around. Rubbing his head free of the grass and dirt, he realized he was miles away from home in the hills. _Just great, Banner._

Checking his watch, he wondered how long he'd been out there. _Fuck._ It happened again. He had no memory of the day before. Only tiny pieces to the bigger puzzle and he didn't like the picture they were forming. He didn't like where his thoughts had taken him last night either. Everything felt like a dream, or a nightmare. As he pulled on his jacket, he thought it was a nightmare he wasn't going to wake up from anytime soon.

Once he found all his stuff that had been scattered on the ground, including his glasses, notebook, bag, and headphones, he went in search for his bike. It was near a tree off the road, chained around the trunk.

As he got on his bike, he took one last look around the trees and green grass as he felt the pain of emptiness in his gut and heart. There was something wrong with him, he knew, because he shouldn't feel this dead inside. He pulled on his headphones and drifted with the music as he started the long bike ride home.

His legs were shaking, heart pounding, and stomach aching by the time to steered his bike around the corner to his house. He felt so sick he thought he would collaspe before he made the last few feet to-

Stopping short of the driveway, he stared at the person sitting on the back of a tailgate, sipping on a bottle of beer in morning like it was no big deal.

"You look like shit; what'd you do, sleep outside? Here," Clint held out a bottle. "Want one?"

Bruce eyed the bottle then looked back into his eyes as he asked, "What're you doing here?"

"S'okay, is all. Wanted you to know that."

He blinked at him as he tried to process the slurred words. Bruce briefly wondered how much he'd had, and how long he'd been sitting there waiting, before he realized he didn't care. He let his bike fall to the street as he got off it and looked into the carport. It was empty, his father wasn't there. He climbed up onto the tailgate and sat next to Clint then took the offered bottle. He still wasn't a drinker, didn't even like the taste, but, to hell with it...he'd done worse things.

The first sip was horrible. By the fifth gulp, not so much. Before he knew it, the bottle was empty and Clint was handing him another. The world seemed so far away suddenly with the only thing keeping him grounded in the now was that bottle in his hand. He could feel it, the cold wet glass, but he wasn't the one holding it. He wasn't even there. Clint's words were soft and distant as if they were drifting through a fog.

"I'm not an idiot. I know when things aren't right. Seen it 'fore." He chuckled as he said, "My life, ya know, 'fore we ended up in L.A, me and Barn, we were carnies. I used to perform in the circus, rode the rails...shooting apples off people's head. Anyway, that's how we ended up out here in California. Two farm boys...It was rough and...it all went south and...now, here we are." He laughed a little as he looked over at him.

Bruce looked over at him as the bitter taste of the beer filled his mouth. He didn't even want to drink it anymore but he felt compelled, as if he wasn't even the one lifting his arm. This was the same way he'd felt last night. His body wasn't his anymore, and he wasn't sure it had ever been. He wasn't even sure he heard everything Clint had told him; nothing was making any sense. "What're you talking about?"

Clint took a deep breath and said quietly, "You. It's just, I know, and, it's okay."

It took him time to figure out what he was trying to say. Looking away, he asked, "You know what, exactly?"

"That you...what happened yesterday...said I'm not an idiot. Okay, you, uh...hear things...right? Maybe even...see things, that aren't there?"

Was this really happening right now? He stared at the pavement for a moment as he took another drink. Lifting his eyes, he saw Hulk standing in front of him. He'd been awfully quiet this whole time. _"Well?"_

Hulk huffed and shook his head. **_Hulk got nothing to say. Banner wanna be punk boy's friend._**

 _"We don't have friends."_

 **Don't tell Hulk! Hulk know! Tell Punk Boy!**

"Bruce?"

He huffed out a laugh but kept his eyes on Hulk, "So, now you know that the rumors of me being a freaking weirdo are true, and you're okay with that?"

"You're not-...Hell, we've all got something. My hearing's a joke. I'm not completely deaf, but...That's why I like things loud. My ol' man, he busted my ears up one too many times."

Bruce felt himself flinch as he looked at the house. He heard a scream fill his head and he closed his eyes as he saw his father standing over him, fists clenched. "Yeah. I'd rather hear nothing than this constant-" he stopped and shook his head. "Forget it." He finished off the bottle and stared at it. He hadn't remembered drinking it but the taste stained his mouth. _"Disgusting."_

"What's disgusting?"

Bruce's eyes focused in on Clint and frowned as he held up the bottle.

Clint was quiet for a long moment before asking, "Are you okay?"

 _So much for that, Banner._ Looking over his shoulder, he saw Hulk was now sitting behind him, and hovering like always, but this time his eyes were downcast and he stayed quiet. For some reason, that pissed him off. Scratching his head, he let out a bitter laugh. "I'm messed up." He rubbed over his hair and shook his head. "...You're okay with me being a mess? Why?"

The concerned look in Clint's eyes didn't go away as he continued to look at him. He tossed both of the empty bottles into the back of the truck bed. "I'm your friend. An' besides you and Nat...and Barn...Loyality has to count for somethin'. If you can't be loyal to your friends," he shrugged and said, "what's the point of having any?" After a moment of silence, with him still staring at him, he said, "Could you say som'thin'..."

His head hurt, it pounded, and his hand shook as he brought the bottle up to his lips and realized that it wasn't there. There was a loud huff behind him causing him to smirk. Hulk didn't like this at all. "Thanks...I guess."

Looking back at the pavement, he heard Clint ask, "You still movin' out?"

He huffed out a shaky laugh and nodded. "Don't have a choice."

"Wha'd your Aunt and Uncle say?"

Bruce closed his eyes and shook his head as he told him, "Changed my mind."

"Why? I thought, with it being family an' all..."

"And that's why I can't," he said as he opened his eyes to look at Clint. "I don't want to hurt them. My cousin, she's still young and looks up to me. I can't lose it around her, I can't put them through that."

"Okay, okay, I get it. Yeah, so...you can't stay here."

"No other option." They sat quietly for a moment as he thought about what to do. His father was kicking him out so he had to go somewhere. If he had to, he could try to find a room to rent or...At the thought of living with other people, or apartment hunting, he forgot how to breathe. "I should apologize."

"Don't do that. You can't give into that asshole."

Bruce shook his head and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. His head was starting to hurt. "I've never...It's always been us, Clint. You don't understand. I don't think I can...be alone."

"Hey, okay, then." Clint suddenly spoke up. "Here's a thought, and you can say no. No pressure, but like, I have room."

Bruce was staring again as he asked, "The car shop? Are you serious, what about your brother?"

"He's cool. You know how to fix stuff, I've seen your rockets and projects...you know machines. All you gotta do is earn your keep, man. No big deal. We need the help. C'mon, it'll be fun."

Bruce shook his head but really had no other choice. After a moment, he swallowed hard around the lump that seemed to not want to go away as he said, "Okay." The word sounded distant, like someone else was speaking as he struggled to hold onto reality.

His head was spinning as the world seemed very different as he stepped away. Like a dream. Everything was foggy, coming in-and-out of focus like a pair of binoculars as a ringing filled his ears. Pressing his hands into the sides of his head, he tried to muffle the sounds and realized, a little to late, that the ringing wasn't coming from the outside but on the inside.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

"Uh, Bruce, man, you okay? I've been-"

He flinched at the touch as his hands fisted. Fingers brushed the skin, the nape of his neck, and he froze for a split second before jumping down off the back of the truck.

"Hey...I didn't-"

He spun, knocking the out-reached arm away at the same time his fist came flying around. It hurt as his knuckles cracked against bone. As the pain shot up his arm another struck him in the chest as he watched Clint stumble backwards into the truck.

It was over in a second but it'd been long enough for everything to fall apart. Hulk was standing there, smirking, and looking like he'd won some bet he hadn't known he'd placed.

You?

 _ **Me...You...No difference.**_ Hulk huffed and turned away then shot over his shoulder, **_We did it._** He'd hit him. _Oh_... _God._ He stared at Clint who was in turn staring at him with hands over his face in more shock than hurt. Gulping hard, he tried to speak. He tried to say something like he was sorry or he didn' t mean it. Anything to make this right. Anything to make Clint not stare at him like that. He gapped once, twice, then shut his mouth as he straightened and turned away. Too ashamed and angry at himself to even whisper an apology, he walked toward the house.

And Clint thought this was okay.

 _ **Shouldn't have touched Banner. Punk boy learned that the hard way.**_ He ignored Hulk as he used his key to open the backdoor. The house was dark and quiet with stuffy hot air so he left the door open as he mindlessly went up the stairs to his bedroom and shut the door. His head was killing him. The ringing had stopped but now the aching pain throbbed through his head and behind his eyes. This wasn't new to him, but it was worse than ever before.

"We hit him," he accused as he lifted his eyes to stare at Hulk who was stalking him from the corner by the door. "Why'd you let me-" ** _Teach a lesson! Don't. Touch._** "People touch me all the time. You let bullies beat the shit out of me! What difference-" his mouth snapped shut as the answer hit him square in the gut. He knew what it was because Hulk knew. "He wants to...be my friend...and, you don't _like_ that."

Hulk huffed at him and crossed his arms.

"You're afraid." **_Hulk not afraid! Hulk strongest there is!_** Bruce stared hard at him as his jaw twitched. "Jealous."

He felt like breaking, hitting, and smashing everything, but especially Hulk's fuming face. He wanted to hurt him. After all, they'd hurt Clint. The pain still throbbed up his arm, from his fingers to his elbow. He wanted to feel it again in the hope of getting it all to stop. Everything needed to stop. "You ruin everything," he said right before his fist slammed into the wall.

Then he pounded it into the door, the desk, and the next thing he knew he was ripping up his papers, notebooks, and kicking his boxes. He even tore his posters. His throat felt raw as he screamed the whole time, cursing Hulk, his father, but most of all himself. He hated himself. Hated this life and the voices in his head. He hated everyone and everything except for the guy he just punched in the face.

He collasped against the wall as deep breaths of rage escaped his lungs. There was a laughter in his head that caused him to sink to the floor and knock his head back against the wall. It was his father's laughter, the Hulk's laugh, and it stung. It hurt worse than the punching.

Last night he should've did it. He should've buried himself in the ground and not come back up for air. "Fucking waste."

"Well, now it is."

He nearly jumped as his head snapped up and saw Clint standing inside his doorway.

At seeing him, he gestured over his shoulder and said, "You left the door open. I heard you up here and thought to wait. Not that I thought you would hit me again." He rubbed his face and jaw and laughed. "Don't worry 'bout it, my brother hits harder than you do, Bruce. Gotta give you credit, though, you've got a mean right."

He still couldn't speak as he pulled himself up but continued to use the wall as support as he didn't trust his legs to hold him upright. He looked around his destroyed room and finally got out of his dry mouth, "Sorry."

"My fault."

"No, it's my fault," he sighed and shook his head. It was always his fault. He didn't know how to...what to..."I think...I think I freaked out," he told him as he eyed the Hulk across the room. That was the best, and most sane, explanation he could come up with at the moment. He sure as hell wasn't going to tell him he thought the voice in his head was jealous that he actually had a real friend.

Clint leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. He finally looked at Clint, really looked at him, for what seemed like the first time that day. The fog in his head had lifted and the world was hitting him hard with painfully sharp clarity. Clint's smile was easy and light as took in his destroyed room. A bruise was forming on his left cheek and his short hair was tousled slightly in the back from rubbing his hand over it.

He flinched again at the image of Clint holding his face and felt his stomach clinch in guilt. "I am sorry."

Clint only shrugged as he looked at the floor then around the room again. "We've been drinking and I made you uncomfortable...I get it."

"Don't make excuses," he snapped as he pushed himself off the wall. At the startled look he received, he sighed and shut his mouth. He needed to calm down.

"It wasn't an excuse-" Clint went to say when he cut him off.

"I make excuses for my father's behavior all the time. You will not make excuses for mine. I hit you. I did that." He gestured around his room and said, "I did this. All of it, my fault. I did it, so stop making excuses for it."

Clint studied him for a long moment, watching him as he paced his room and took in the damage he'd done. "Yeah, okay, you're a real prick, is that what you want to hear?"

"Yes," he said as he turned around and stared hard at him from across the room. "I know I'm...that I can be... _difficult_. Just don't act like I'm normal when we both know I'm not."

"You know what, you may not be perfect, but I will never not treat you like you're less than normal." Clint bent down and to retrieve a book. "So, are we still packing up your shit or not?"

Bruce looked to the floor, at the piles of his stuff scattered around and ripped up and busted. He needed a trash bag, not a box. "I can't live with you."

"Why not?" Clint tossed the book on the bed and eyed him. "Do you really think he'll let you stay after he told you to get out? And why would you even want to?"

Because the thought of leaving was more terrifying than the prospect of staying. This hell he knew. He knew this well. And he'd be lying if he said he hadn't grown accustom to it. He'd hit Clint because he'd touched him. He hadn't felt the comfort of a friend in that touch. He hadn't felt safe or guarded or liked. He felt violated. He felt a need to defend himself. Rooming with him and knowing what he felt, how Hulk felt, would make it worse.

"Hey, you don't want to stay with me that's fine. We'll figure something else out. Okay? Let's just get what's packed out to my truck and get some breakfast."

Eventually, he nodded and started picking and putting the boxes back together with duct tape. They had most of it loaded into the back of Clint's truck when he saw his father's car pull into the driveway.

The black and red '77 Mercedes Benz convertable made him freeze in place as he eyed the man getting out. His father, dressed in his suit and tie and looking ever like a physicist, approached the truck without even looking in his direction. Instead, his eyes were focused on Clint. His mouth went dry as he watched Brian stop in front of him.

Clint, not knowing what to expect, did what anyone would do as he introduced himself. "Morning. I'm Clint." He held out his hand but Brian just ignored it as his eyes roamed up and down over Clint, taking in his clothes and hair. The punk look wasn't doing him any favors.

Brian then eyed the truck full of boxes. "Take it out."

Bruce took a step, arms full of the last box of various crap he called his stuff, as he asked in confusion, "Take what out?"

Brian's jaw twitched. "All of it."

He looked at Clint who in turn looked at him. "But...you told me to move." He'd never seen such restraint in his life as Brian turned his blazing eyes to his. Swallowing hard, he stammered out, "I-I don't understand..."

Reaching out, Brian knocked the box out of his arms and took a step closer. Clint was trying to get between them in a flash but was shoved aside. Bruce held out a hand to stop Clint from interferring again. His father stepped right into his personal space, nearly touching his chest to his. That close, he could smell the alcohol mixed with his Old Spice aftershave. It made his stomach turn. "That," he said as he point to Clint, "that's all you got."

Bruce looked to Clint and felt the anger swell in his chest as his fist tightened.

"Some punk kid, who's nothing, is exactly what's wrong with you."

"And why would you care-" The fist to his gut had him lost for breath as he doubled over. It wasn't the worst pain he'd felt, didn't make it any better.

"Take it all out, now. You're not going anywhere, especially with...that."

His father squared his shoulders and turned to Clint who seemed to brace for impact as his arms came up in front of his chest like a boxer. Brian just huffed out a laugh and said, "What'd you think you're going to do, punk? Get off my lawn."

"Let's just do what he says," he quietly spoke as he tried to calm the situation down. The last thing he wanted was for any of this to happen. If his father wanted to hit him, fine, but this..."Clint, it's okay."

"The hell it is. I know you," he said to Brian as he stepped closer. "Had an old man just like you bust me all up too."

He held his breath as Brian took a step closer to Clint. It hurt to breathe, to even keep his eyes on the two of them as they squared off. All he could see was Clint on the ground with his father on top of him beating him just like he would beat him into the kitchen floor.

 _Hulk..._ He looked around and saw Hulk leaning against the truck; a smirk on his face. _Hulk, please..._ _ **On your own, Banner. Told you punk boy trouble.**_ Bruce felt his jaw tighten as he watched as Brian shoved Clint hard back into the side of the truck.

He would never...not in public. This wasn't like Brian at all; he'd shoved a kid. He'd shoved Clint!

"Enough!" Both Clint and Brian turned to face him as he straightened up with a tight groan. "I'm staying, okay. Just stop it!"

His eyes were so focused on his father's face, and the slight turn of his lips up in a grin, that he didn't noticed Clint's movement until it was too late.

"Hey, asshole."

Brian turned and that was when Bruce saw Clint's flying fist. It smacked Brian across the face, sending him stumbling backwards into the yard. At the sight of Clint standing over his father who'd fallen on his ass in the grass, he was stunned. Too stunned to move or breathe, even though it hurt to do so, as a siren blared in the distance.

He didn't know if those sirens were for them or not, but panic shot through him. Clint heard it too as he suddenly seemed to snap out of his own shock. "I gotta...we gotta..." he looked over at him with wide eyes. "Bruce?"

Everything hurt. He tried to take a step but the pain in his chest stabbed like a knife and he fell back into the truck, bounced off and hit the ground then laid there. Clint reached down to try to help him up as the police car rounded the corner.

It was a blur after that. There were loud sirens that made it hard to hear and think as he fought to breathe. Clint was pulled away and he couldn't even call out to stop them from cuffing him. Brian was still sitting in the grass, blood covering the front of his face and nice suit. He felt like laughing at the sight but he still couldn't breathe right.

The punch to his chest must have done something. Something that made the world turn sideways as blackness clouded his vision.

* * *

 _Pneumothorax._ Collapsed lung. Or in his case, a partially collapsed lung. The hard punch by his father injured his chest wall, which filled the space with air causing part of his lung to give in. There was no real treatment to receive. It would heal on its own, but the doctor had told him to wait for a prescription of pain meds and something for inflamation. A few of his ribs and muscles were bruised and there was swelling.

The cop had stuck around for a while. She had the usual questions he'd been answering for years now, however, this time they _knew_ his father had been the one to hit him. As he sat, waiting for the doctor to return, he replayed the questions and answers in his head, making sure he hadn't made things worse. All he did was tell the truth this time. No made up stories, no lies, no deceit. It was all true, every last word.

"Okay, Mr. Banner, you're being discharged."

He looked up from the floor and nodded to the nurse as he got up. He signed himself out and took the prescriptions then headed out of the hospital to the bus stop. He needed to go home and rest and to not hurt every time he moved. That was all he needed. What he wanted was different. He wanted to see Clint. He wanted to make sure he was okay and not in jail. The police wouldn't tell him anything.

The bus pulled up to the curb and he slowly climbed the steps and paid the fare. It started to move before he found a seat and nearly stumbled to the floor. He caught himself on the pole and dropped into an open seat by the window. Resting his head against the cool glass, he closed his eyes and fought the pain away the entire ride home.

He didn't know why Brian changed his mind. Maybe it was Clint who'd done it. Seeing that he had a friend, one that would help him out, had been too much. Having him out in the cold, alone, with no one, would have satisfied his father. Brian wanted him to hurt, so, he hurt him. He took away his out and along with it, his friend.

He had to walk three blocks to his house and when he got there saw that Clint's truck was gone. Did that mean all his stuff was gone with it? He wouldn't be surprised. Against the wall by the backdoor was his bike. Both tires had been flatten and the handle bars and seat removed. Payback _,_ his father's specialty. Brian wasn't in jail after-all but probably in his study right now, drinking and brooding as he worked himself up to ensure he broke his ribs this time.

He opened the door and stopped as the piano notes of Beethoven's " _Fur Elise_ " filled the otherwise somber, and musty, house. It still amazed him, how someone so violent listened to something so calmingly pleasant. Then, as he stepped into the kitchen and looked toward the living room, he realized that it wasn't a record playing. At the old upright piano that had belonged to his grandfather, sat Brian. A glass of bourbon was sitting on top of the upright as his father played over the keys effortlessly, even when drunk.

Stepping further into the kitchen, he shut the door and proceeded to the refridgerator. _Just another night at the Banner residence_ , he thought as he opened the door and stared at the understocked shelves. It didn't matter if they held a buffet, he wasn't hungry.

Sitting at the table, he sat back in the chair, shut his eyes, and let the music flow over him. He never had the patience to learn the piano. It wasn't something that had interest him. Now, thinking back, he wished he'd done it. He wished he'd had known then to cherish those moments with his mother before there were no more moments to have.

Rubbing a hand through his hair, he sighed as he felt the ever present sense of anger, and surprisingly guilt, grip his heart whenever he thought about her. Her absence lingered even now, years later, as the music stopped.

He'd forgotten where he was for a moment, and who was there with him, until he heard his father walk into the kitchen. Looking up at him from the table, he eyed the glass in his hand first before meeting Brian's eyes. There was dark bruising under each eye and a white bandage taped across his nose. He winced at the sight and turned away to look back at the table. Even though he hadn't had been the one to strike him, he felt the same regardless. He was the guilty one.

Brian sat in the chair beside him and his whole body tensed in anticipation. His eyes lifted slightly to watch him swirl the liquor around the glass before taking a sip. "Bruce, my father, taught me the piano. He would walk behind me with a long wooden ruler and whenever I missed a note, he'd hit me with it. Nothing made me as happy as the day I got through a whole song without feeling that wooden stick smack me across the hands."

Bruce barely took his eyes off the glass in his hand as he said, "Was that what happened?...Your way of smacking me across the hands?"

He was quiet a moment before telling him, "I suppose." Brian downed the rest the drink and got up to refill the glass. Then he sat back down, a full glass in front of him, and took a deep breath.

Bruce waited for him to continue. Beyond what everyone else thought, his father had his moments. His good moments of seemingly actual care and concern for his well-being. He'd say things like "this was for his own good" or "you'll understand one day". It wasn't all anger and apathey passed between the two of them. When he was younger it'd seemed that way. As of late, he heard the conflicting tones in his father's voice some nights. He heard what sounded like regret other times.

Tonight, he wasn't sure what this was. He was confused and overall tired. He was so damn tired of everything. He just wanted it to end. All of it.

"You don't need someone like that-"

"You mean a friend?" He huffed out a laugh and crossed his arms tightly around his body. _A real friend anyway._

"How much of a friend you think he'll be when you lose it around him? When you start acting different? I know what you are-"

He sighed and closed his eyes. Here they go again. "I know who I am." Even as he said it he didn't believe the words.

He knew parts of himself; he knew what he was good at and what he wasn't good at. As for truly knowing himself, it was hard with all the noise in his head and deaden emotions confusing his heart. If Hulk would just shut up for a little while then maybe he could think clearly. ** _Don't drag me into this._**

Brian sighed and rubbed a hand through his perfectly combed hair, messing up the effort he'd put into looking presentable. He could smell the brylecreem in the air. "We're both _tainted._ I knew it, I knew it for years and that's why I never wanted..." Brian trailed off and took another drink as Bruce's jaw twitch.

He could fill in the blank. His father never wanted him. He never wanted a child, yet here he was and here he stayed. Obedient and dependable, and miserable for it. Bruce's jaw hurt from clenching it shut that it popped when he went to speak. "Do you ever feel... _hate_ , toward yourself, knowing how you are and why?"

This all seemed sureal, like it wasn't even happening. A warped dream in his head; him and his father, sitting at a table together, and actually having a meaningful conversation. No words of hate or anger, no need to go on the defense or offensive. Talking with logic instead of hitting blinding with irrationality.

This whole day, a dream. Was he still getting high in the hills? Or was this really happening? He had no idea anymore. His chest hurt and that was real. Hulk was sulking in the corner, breathing hard and heavy, and that was real. One in the real world, one in the imagined, but both so real he could feel, see it, but never touch it. Not completely.

His father was right; he had no idea who he was anymore. He was Hulk, he was Joe, he was David, he was Robbie, but was he actually ever really Bruce? Brian was staring at him like he'd lost his mind. Did he say something? "I'm sorry, what?"

Brian, to his disbelief, didn't get angry. Instead he asked again, "Do you hate yourself?"

His body shivered around his arms as he stared at his father for a long moment. Was this what his Aunt was talking about when she said that he reminded her of his father? Because right then as they looked each other in the eyes, he saw himself. He couldn't answer that question. Neither could Brian who suddenly excused himself and took his bourbon with him to the study.

As he heard the door shut in the hallway, he let out a breath and pushed the chair back. He went up to his room, stripped and took a shower, and then laid down in bed and closed his eyes.

That night he dreamed of water. Angry dark water.

He was lying on the beach, waves crashing all around him and on top of his body. Battering him over and over again as he struggled to breathe. Eventually the waves swept him out to sea where he was lost. His arms fought to keep afloat but soon the vast openess of the ocean won out and he started to sink.

He woke breathing hard into the bedroom. His lungs were on fire and his chest felt like he'd been hit by a truck. The prescription for the pain meds was still in his pants pocket. He never took it to get it filled. He dropped back in bed and covered his sweaty face.

 _Do you hate yourself?_ That question kept circling his head until he stared up at the dark ceiling and answered it in the night.

In the bathroom he found his father's straight edge razor. In his mind, and in his heart, he felt the same as he had the last time he took a blade to his arm. As the warmth of the blood trickled down and over his skin, his eyes widen in fasination that this would be the last thing he felt.

Then the door opened.

It took his father a full second to register what he was seeing, but once he did his arms were on his, yanking the razor away and there was yelling in his ear. He had no idea what Brian was saying because he was yelling back, fighting back, as if what his father had just done was worse than anything that had ever been done to him before.

There was a struggle of arms and wet bloody hands before he was thrown to the wooden floor in the hallway. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs before he felt arms wrapping around him from behind. A hand was over the gapping cut that continued to bleed. Blood seeped between the fingers that tried to stop the flow. In all the arms and legs and confusion it took him a moment to realize that it was Brian's hand on the cut. And that they were his legs wrapped around his body holding him as he tried to save his life.

It was that realization that caused him to break. Right there on the floor with all the blood mixing with all the hate and guilt, he felt the hot tears burst free as he gave in and broke. His body shook hard as he curled in on himself and screamed out all the agony that filled his head.

"Why?" he got out between breathes. "Why won't you let me go?"

Brian, who was breathing hard and fast into his ear, didn't say anything as he he did let him go. He left him lying there as he went about bandaging his arm before yanking him to his feet. They both stumbled down the stairs and out into the cool night air. Once in the car and on their way to the hospital, he noticed he didn't even have a shirt on, or socks on his feet. All he had on were his pajama pants that were now stained with blood. There were patches of blood smears on his chest and his other arm from the struggle.

Looking over at Brian, he saw the same smears over his arms. His hands were a bloody mess on the steering wheel. He still didn't say anything to him the entire drive. He couldn't even gauge his father's emotions. That wasn't right. He'd gotten so used to knowing what his father was feeling that he didn't even have to look at him to know if he was angry or not. Hot, cold, it was like the air in the room changed depending on his mood. Sitting there in the car with him now, he couldn't feel anything.

He couldn't even feel his own heart beating. His head hit the window and lights from the city faded to darkness.

* * *

Opening his eyes, a sharp bright whiteness blinded him, making him shut his eyes again. There was a softness under his cheek but his body ached and felt like he'd been lying on a rock. A low steady beep and constant hum started to irritate his ears. He opened his eyes again and groaned but bit it back as he shifted on the firm mattress. The windows were attempting to offer shade from the morning sun but failing. Sun light streamed in between the blinds across the floor. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry.

Shivering into the thin sheets, he tried to pull them up to tuck under his chin or pull over his head for some much needed heat. As he lifted his right arm it caught, and then so did his left. The monitor beeped faster as he started to panic. He was strapped down to the bed and couldn't move.

"Wha..." he tried to speak but his words slurred into inaudible sounds as his eyes darted around the room.

He was in a hospital. Wasn't he already there? Didn't he leave? It took a minute longer before he worked it around in his head. The day that had seemed like a dream that ended in a nightmare. He was still there, still alive, and now he was strapped to a hospital bed because he'd tried to kill himself. Looking to his left arm he saw dried blood through the bandage. Seepage from the stitching.

A voice filled the hallway along with clicking of shoes and heels. There were people walking toward the room. The voice belonged to his father and a woman.

"You have a very troubled son, Doctor Banner. He's going to need professional help and he'll need round the clock supervision," the woman was saying as they stopped outside the door.

"I know what's best for my son."

He wanted to laugh at that, but all he could manage was a groan as he sunk back into the hard bed, closed his eyes, and listened.

"I'm sure you do, but you also have to understand how delicate this situation is. Have you seen these?" Another man's voice joined the conversation. Who was this guy and why'd he care?

"Yes, Sir, I've seen them. He's been writing in those for years."

 _Sir?_ When did his father call any other man sir? Was he talking to his boss?

"But have you looked in them, Banner? Here, take a look."

There was a long moment when no one spoke. He opened his eyes in panic as he suddenly realized what notebooks they were referring. _Oh...no, no, no._ He tried to swallow again but the cotton in his mouth caused him to gag instead and he started to cough.

As he coughed and fought to breathe, a woman entered the room carrying a clipboard. She was the nurse. His father and the other man entered behind her and as he leaned back, panting on the bed as he got control of his breathing, and saw who it had been his father was talking to.

The man was tall, stood straight with his shoulders back, and wore a uniform. Not a doctors uniform or even that of the police, but of the military. He could barely make out the name on the nameplate as the nurse walked over with a paper cup filled with water. It read "Ross". He looked to be some kind-of officer from the insigna on his collar.

Once he wetted his mouth, he was finally able to speak, but he didn't as he saw his father flipping through one of his notebooks. Where'd he even get that? All his stuff was...somewhere in a truck or in his backpack. Wait, did his father get his stuff back?

"Nurse, could you excuse us," Brian spoke softly without looking up from flipping slowly through the pages.

She gave a huff but left once Ross gestured for her to leave. Why'd she take orders from him? He frowned as he looked over the room once more and noticed the paint scheme on the walls and the no T.V. in the corner. His eyes tried to focus on the medical equipment but without his glasses it was hard to see the printing even thought it was inches from his face. He was certain it said Property of the U.S. Army.

"Am I on a military base?"

"Yes, son, you are." The Ross guy approached him and stood next to his bed as his father closed the notebook and crossed his arms in front of him. "I'm Lieutenant General Thaddeus Ross. Your father works for me."

Bruce looked briefly to his father and muttered as his head spun, "It's...classified."

"Most of his work with the government is classified, especially what he does for us. Your father does great service to his country, Bruce, you should be proud."

This was making his head hurt, and caused the floor to tilt slightly to the left. "He's a Physicist," he heard his words slur as his eyes closed.

"Physicists make great assets. As I'm sure you will one day."

He frowned up at the man for a brief moment before slipping back into unconsciousness. He didn't have time to wonder what he'd meant by that.

Some time later he was sitting on the bed, staring at the floor, as he buttoned up a white long-sleeve dress shirt. He looked around the Army hosptial room and shook his head. He knew his father had done some work for the military when they lived in New Mexico, but he hadn't known he was still working for them. Physicists who worked for the military usually ended up making bombs. Nuclear ones. The kind he had marveled at and studied about alone in his room for years.

Getting off the bed, he took a step to look out the window. His wrist still itched and hurt from where he'd been strapped down, but at least he was free now. It had been a precaution at first, to make sure he didn't try to rip off the bandage or do something drastic. He might, one day, but not right now. He was too busy watching the men in uniform pass by the window. A group in sweatpants and t-shirts were jogging up the street in unison, singing a cadence as they went.

This was surreal. His father worked for the goverment, for the military, doing some highly classified work. The scientist inside of him wanted to know more. He could care less what his father had done to him at the moment; it all seemed to fade away as his mind started to work over the possibilities.

"Banner!"

He jumped and yelped, "What?!" as he turned, startled, and came face-to-face with Lieutenant General Ross. "Uh, I mean uh,...yes. Yes, sir?"

Ross looked him over and huffed. "High strung, just like your father. Come with me." Without too much thought about it, he started to follow when the Lieutenant General stopped him with a sudden point to the floor. "Don't forget your shoes."

Feeling embarrassed as the heat spread up his neck and over his face, he went to slip the black dress shoes over his feet. He'd been given some clothes by the nurse and he was certain they were military issue. A white buttoned-down dress shirt, green khakis, pair of socks, and dress shoes. Once he slipped the shoes on, he headed out of the hospital room and followed Ross out into daylight.

On the horizon, hanging over the buildings and barracks, he spotted the haze of the rising sun behind the palm trees as they started walking. A jet roared past in the distance and cars passed Officers and the enlisted on the streets. Just about everyone in uniform, coming and going from one building to another.

A jeep slowed at the corner with a few men in camoflague. Around the driver's arm he spotted the letters MP. They were Military Police and he wondered briefly at their looks toward him before the jeep sped away. Did they know who he was? What he'd done? Without thought, he grabbed the cuff of the left sleeve and pulled it further down over the bandage.

"Where is my father?"

"I put him to work to give us some time alone. I wanted to talk to you myself. You're a bright young man, Banner."

Looking away from Ross, he watched the daily activities around the base and shook off the compliment. He didn't receive those often, and when he did, he never believed the words. If he were so bright, why was his arm bandaged up with blood stains seeping through?

"I don't know a damn thing about physics, wouldn't know a scientic breakthrough from a simple math equation to save my life. However, I have a group of experts, your father included, that say the things you've come up with in that notebook of yours would've taken them their whole lives, if ever, to understand and develope. They're talking about a breakthrough unmatched since the discovery of the atom."

He glanced over at Ross and say the man staring straight ahead as he talked. Turning his head back to observing the bland buildings as they walked, he had to ask, "May I ask, what's this about?"

"All I can think of when I hear talk like that is, "Why isn't he on our team?" I assume you're getting offers from every university across the country, yes?"

"A few. I..." he trailed off as he thought about the past year; he wasn't exactly a model behavior student. Fights, being tardy, getting suspended, and now this. His second suicide attempt in less than a year. "I'm not exactly what most colleges are looking for...mentally...or, emotionally."

Ross chuckled a little. He couldn't believe the Officer found this humorous. "I suppose not. Regardless of any mental health issues, which can be helped with proper treatment, you're brilliant."

He didn't feel brilliant. "If you say so."

"I do. Me, and a few dozen of the best minds in the country, including that of one Howard Stark."

He stopped at that and turned to face Ross. Bruce tried to wrap his head around it but couldn't as the confusion grew. "Howard... _Stark_?...The millionaire Howard Stark?"

Ross stopped walking as well to face him. Smiling slightly, he said, "Pretty sure he's a billionaire by now. Come on, Banner, I want to show you something."

A couple more buildings down and they were entering through a side door marked "Authorized Personnel Only". Bruce suddenly felt very small and uncomfortable as he headed down the beige and white dull hallway, passing doors and hallways until they were going through another door and right into an elevator.

"Everything beyond this point is highly classified."

Bruce licked his dry lips before asking, "Then...isn't this, illegal? I'm not-"

"Don't forget who you're speaking to, Banner." Looking down at him, he said, "I am the one in charge."

He watched the floor indicator and realized there was no floor numbers coming before the ground floor they'd left. Hesitantly checking his watch, he counted thirty seconds. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly to try to calm himself. He hated elevators. Hated confined spaces, and hated feeling like he couldn't breathe. He wasn't exactly claustrophobic, but it all made him nervous, like he couldn't escape.

And when in the hell was this thing going to stop?

Just as he thought it, the elevator came to a slow stop and the doors opened into another hallway. However, unlike the dull ones from the floor above, the walls were metal with re-enforced pilers and bolts.

"We're about 2 miles underground. Just breathe, kid. See the vents."

He let out the breath of air he'd been holding and gave a nod as he glanced up and around the gray hallway. There were vents up in the shadows pumping fresh air down into his tunnel. And that was what it felt like, an underground tunnel. Looking back toward the elevator he didn't see anyone. Not even Hulk. He was alone, completely alone. Ross could have very well been an invisible man at the moment because all he could see, and feel, were the walls closing in on him and the hard floor under his shoes as he walked toward the door at the very end of the hall.

There were two guards, one on each side of the door, with rifles held across the front of their chests. More guns on their hips along with a radio that was attached to the belt; its mouthpiece stretched up by a cord and hooked to their shirts. They had MP's on their arms too. As if on command, they both came to attention at the same time and saluted Ross as they allowed him to pass. Bruce felt himself hesitate, staring at the men with guns as his body started to tremble.

Ross opened the door and as he looked back at him said, "Once you step inside, understand that you can't mention this to anyone."

Bruce gave a weak nod and took a very heavy step across the threshold and into the room as the door was shut behind him.

* * *

It was white then dark and fuzzy with specks of light breaking through his eyelids. There were voices, hushed and low before screaming that nearly shattered his ear drums. Flimsy movements with weak arms and no legs. His back hurt, his head, his eyes, and his throat. Everything foggy and in clips and pieces until it was gone and he was floating in darkness. He was dead. Felt dead.

There was nothing.

He awoke again but in a familiar room staring at a familiar white ceiling. Jerking upright, he tried to steady his racing heart as he looked around his bare bedroom. There were the boxes stacked on top of each other in a corner. His clothes folded neatly in a basket. Checking the time, it was 5:30 in the morning.

What...? Was it a dream? Looking at his left arm he saw the bandage and swallowed hard. That wasn't a dream. Turning to sit on the edge of the bed, he spotted scattered over the floor the clothes he'd received while at the base. The khakis were stained with blood on the left side and the white shirt sleeve had brown dried blood spots. The bandage looked new as there was no red seepage staining the white.

He didn't remember any of that. In fact, he didn't remember much of anything after getting off that elevator. He searched the corners of the room, the hallway, and in the bathroom as he decided to take a shower, but no such luck. Hulk wasn't there.

As he stood under the water with his left bandaged forearm resting against the tile wall, he felt his body jerk against the pummeling spray. His body hurt; it was sore and tense and just felt...wrong. Closing his eyes, he focused on the warmth of the water running down his body. The streams of water that trickled down his arms felt like the blood that had spilled over his skin, and the cool of the razor against his vein.

A hand grabbed his own, holding it down against the floor as blood seeped out over his arms. He felt trapped and couldn't move. Tears burned his eyes as he gritted out, "Why won't you let me go?"

He jerked back as the cold water rained down over his shivering body. His hand shook as he turned off the water and stared down into the tub as the last of the water emptied into the drain. Getting out, he grabbed a towel and wrapped himself up as he went back to his bedroom. He dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a white sweatshirt, slipped on his shoes, glasses, and then grabbed his backpack.

He looked through it and found his wallet, keys, Walkman and little else. His notebook wasn't there. Did they keep it? Did his father have it? It held more than his work, but his drawings and of course, his "conversation" with the others. The notebook had evidence, David's drawing, of the car explosion. Were they going to show it to the police? He felt the panic pound in his chest as he stuffed a couple pairs of extra clothes in the bag and headed out. Slipping the headphones on, he pressed play on the Walkman as he started to walk.

He'd planned to go to the bus stop but that wasn't where he ended up. Walking up the driveway, he checked his watch and saw it was almost seven in the morning. Dawn had already broken over the hills to the west but he was still cold under the sweats. The garage around the back of the house was alive with activity that early in the morning to no surprise to anyone. He really didn't think Rick ever slept.

This morning he wasn't alone as a group of guys in bandanas, tank tops, and jean shorts used his empty swimming pool as their personal skateboard park. Rick didn't even look awake as he lounged back into the couch with a horribly dirty pink robe tied around his body and legs kicked up on the table in front of him.

Once Rick spotted him walking around the corner of the garage, he smiled slightly as he took a drap off a cigarette. "Didn't expect you back so soon, and this early in the A.M."

He gave a shrug as he rubbed a sleeve over his head and flopped down on the couch. He honestly didn't know why he was here expect for the fact that he noticed his stash was gone. He had it in his bag. His notebook was in his bag, but then Ross and his father had his notebook. They must have went through his stuff when they got it out of Clint's truck. Either the police, or his father, had taken it.

It didn't matter really; all he knew was that he was out and he was in a panic over people knowing his secrets and those secrets could be getting him into some serious trouble right about now. His head hurt and the Hulk was gone or maybe he was just hiding or something. He didn't know what he was hiding from but for some reason that thought made the most sense. It felt right. He needed to hide too until he figured this all out.

He felt a tap on his left shoulder and saw the offered smoke being handed to him. Taking it and the lighter, he asked as he stuck the joint in his mouth, "What're they doing?"

"Swimming."

Looking over at Rick, he saw the teasing smirk on his face. "It's seven in the morning, they just happened to be over this early to _swim_."

Rick rubbed a hand through his wild red hair and went back to watching the guys skateboard around in the pool. "You're not my only friend you know. And hey, they brought beer so I'm not complaining about the hour. They can skate all day for all I care."

"You may not be complaining, but you have neighbors and your mom."

"Half my neighbors buy off me, and my mom's at work, and even if she was home, she wouldn't care."

Taking a long drag off the smoke, he realized how right Rick was and stopped worrying about it while leaning back against the couch as Rick started to pick at the guitar.

"I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me," Rick started to sing "Norwegian Wood" by The Beatles. "She showed me her room, isn't it good, Norwegian wood. She asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere. So I looked around and I noticed there wasn't a chair."

It was strangely hypnotic listening to Rick play and sing while watching skateboarders going around and around in the pool as he took another puff off the smoke.

"I sat on the rug, biding my time, drinking her wine. We talked until two, and then she said, it's time for bed. She told me worked in the morning and started to laugh, I told her I didn't and crawled off to sleep in the bath...And when I awoke, I was alone, this bird had flown. So I lit a fire, isn't it good, Norwegian wood." Rick ended the song and asked, "Sticking around today?"

Bruce nearly jumped at the question as he looked over at Rick. "Uh, no, no. I just dropped by...got to get going soon."

Rick raised his eyes at that and looked around for the first time with somewhat clearer eyes. "Oh, yeah, you weren't riding your bike today. Did something happen to it?"

"What'd you think," he said before drawing another long drag off the joint. It was already down to his fingers and he hadn't remembered smoking all that. Checking his watch again, he realized he'd been sitting there for almost an hour. "Was I...Forget it, hey, uh," he openned his bag and pulled out his wallet. He didn't have much money on him, but enough.

"It's on me, Bruce, okay. This one's on me." RIck got up and went over to the far table and was back before he had time to protest. Handing him a box, he told him, "Get some sleep, you're more out of it than usual."

"Says you."

"Yeah, says me. Hey, we're friends aren't we," he said as he sat down beside him. Rick looked him over with worry and Bruce nearly flinched back at the concern he saw.

"I don't know, are we?" Rick actually looked hurt at that question right before something else clouded his eyes. Bruce wasn't sure, but it looked like guilt. What the hell did Rick have to feel guilty about? "Sorry...I'm still having a hard time with this whole friendship thing."

"Bruce...hey, look, there's, um, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about," Rick went to say more when someone let out a scream of fear.

They both looked over to see one of the skaters falling backwards in the air. The guy, only a teenager, hit the side of the pool hard upside down, nearly head first. Bruce jumped up and shouted at Rick, "Get a First Aid kit, or something," and went to help as Rick rushed into the house.

He slid down a slope into the bottom of the pool. He had no idea who these guys were but the one with the busted knee was protesting that he was okay and pushing another guy away who was trying to help him up. As he got a clear look at the guy, he saw him holding his right shoulder and there was a cut over his right eye. It was then that one of the guys noticed him and pushed him away.

"Backup, man, what'd you think you're doing?"

Bruce instinctly held up an arm to deflect a blow as he was pushed but didn't back down as he told him, "Was only helping."

"We don't need it," one of the teenagers, a tall guy with long curly blond hair with a bandana told him as he shoved him again.

His jaw locked as he stared up at the guy while their friend tried to stand up but stumbled. He was possibly dizzy from hitting his head. As he worked his tense jaw free, he heard a growl he hadn't heard all day break through the anger that'd spurred in his gut. Blinking back in surprise at the noise, he glanced back over his shoulder and saw Hulk huffing behind him glaring at the tall long-haired blond boy.

"I got water, ice pack and bandages," Rick said as he dropped down into the pool behind Hulk and came rushing over. He handed them to him as he asked, "You okay?"

Bruce unclenched his hand to grab the water, ice pack and bandages as he said, "Nice friendly group," he sarcastically said as he went to walk by the lingering tall guy.

Rick looked at the guys standing around and told them, "Bruce knows what he's doing. He's ceritified in CPR and First Aid from the uh, Red Cross. Good guy."

Bruce ignored the glares as he kneeled down in front of the injured guy. He was sitting back on his legs, holding his shoulder and his head was hanging down. His eyes were clenched in pain. "I'm Bruce, what's your name?"

"Jeremy," he said as he opened his eyes and took the water. He gulped it down as Bruce got a look at his face, the cut over his eye and noticed how he kept his right arm pressed up against his side.

"How'd you fall?"

"My board broke," he snapped in anger. He picked up the skateboard with his left hand and showed the underside and how one of the wheels broke off. "Piece of shit," he tossed it and groaned at the movement.

"Head hurts?"

"Fuck yeah," Jeremy said in annoyance. "It broke my fall, along with my arm."

Bruce nodded slightly as he listened to the guy talk. He wasn't slurring his speech, wasn't confused, and he was keeping the water down so far. He doubted he had a concussion, just one hell of a headache. He handed him the ice pack and took the empty bottle. Looking through the bandages he used a butterfly bandage to cover the cut above the eye. The ice pack was for the shoulder.

"I'm going to take your hand now," he said as he grabbed Jeremy's right hand and pinched a finger.

"Hey," he yelled as he pulled his hand away.

"No numbness," he said then smiled at the furious look on Jeremy's face. "You're going to be fine. Keep the ice pack on your arm for twenty minutes then take it off for another twenty, and repeat. And, you might want to let put it in an sling, it'll limit movement and help with the pain. And hydrate, water helps sore muscles heal faster. Are you still dizzy?"

Jeremy shook his head as he let him help him up, taking his time, and then led him over to the side with the steps. After dropping him down on the couch, Bruce asked, "Want an aspirin?"

"Aren't you done mothering me yet? I'll take a beer."

Bruce just huffed out a laugh as he picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder as Rick handed Jeremy a beer. He shook his head as he went to leave.

"Hey, Bruce, wait up." Rick fell in-step with him as they walked to the end of the driveway in silence. "So, uh, like I was saying before, I want to talk to you."

Bruce looked over at him as he fiddle with his headphones that'd been hooked onto the strap of the bag. "About what?"

Rick seemed suddenly unsure as he looked around and then at his feet. The fact that he was wearing that dingy pink robe that appeared paler out in the sun didn't help the situation as Bruce wanted to laugh. "This is serious, stop smirking."

"I'm not the one wearing an ugly pink robe standing in the middle of the street."

"I'm in my driveway," Rick shot back but didn't smile back. He had that guilty expression on his face. Taking a step back, he looked away as he told him, "Never mind. Hey, if you want, come back tonight, or uh, tomorrow night, whenever, and we can talk then. Okay? Just, now's not the time."

Bruce stared at him for a long moment before he nodded. "Okay. You're not dying or anything are you?"

RIck blinked back in surprise and asked, "What?"

Bruce shrugged as he put his headphones over his ears. "That's the only thing I can think of other than I did something to screw things up."

"You didn't do anything," Rick assured him before saying, "It wasn't you. It was me...and I want you to know that..." He ran a hand over his face and stood staring at him as tears welled slightly.

Bruce didn't know what to do, or think, as he watched Rick, someone who referred to him as a friend, nearly start to cry in front of him. Pulling his headphones off, he asked in confusion, "Rick? Oh, God, you are dying."

"No!" Rick said as he dropped his hand and looked to the street. "This is hard...Okay, so, now is the time. Okay, I can do this," he said mostly to himself as he gave a nod and looked up at him. "Bruce...I've been seeing someone and it's...been, sexual-"

He stared wide-eyed at him and held up his hand as he said, "Stop right there, okay, I don't need to know this."

"Yes, you do, Bruce," he stressed as he took another breath. "It's Joe."

It took him a long moment to register what he'd just said, but he didn't hear that right. He wasn't...He was mistaking. "Can you repeat that...What uh, which...Joe who? A girl Jo, as in J. O., Jo?" Please be a girl Jo and not be that Joe. Bruce stared at him and when Rick didn't say anything, his hand clenched as his vision blurred with anger. **_Smash. Him_**.

Rick was on his back, hands held up to block the hands smacking them away. "Stop, Bruce, stop, get off me!"

He smacked the hands away again and grabbed Rick up by the robe as he gritted out, "You told him."

Rick stared up in confusion before trembling out, "Joe?"

"You told him!" he said again right before he punched him. "I told you not to do that!"

Rick stopped fighting back and covered his head as he told him, "He had to know, he's my friend and I didn't want to hurt him anymore, Joe! It's over, you hear me, we're done!"

Joe froze, fist held in mid-air as he stared down at the boy he held to the ground. **_Don't stop! Smash him!_** He glared up at Hulk before looking back down at Rick. He let out a breath of air and got up. **_Pfff, weak, like Banner._** "He's his friend," he said as he stepped away. "He...he's right...This was wrong from the start." ** _Joe gotta live too._** He shook his head as he picked up the dropped backpack. "Not if it's hurting Banner. We're supposed to be the ones protecting him, Hulk. That's what he made us for."

Hulk huffed at him again and went to walk away.

Joe watched him pound around on the street before looking down at Rick who was still on his back, staring up at the sky, with a busted lip. Offering him a hand, Joe helped him to his feet but pushed him slightly as he said, "Banner's going to hate both of us for this."

"I know," Rick said as he spat out the blood in his mouth. "I deserved that, but not from you. He should've been the one to hit me. I don't want to lose him as a friend but...I can't keep doing this behind his back." Looking up at him, he shook his head. "The thing is...I like _him_ , Joe. But, he's...Bruce, you know. He's detached and, unemotional, and he wouldn't kiss me if I threw myself at him," he shook his head again. "I'm moving on. Tell him that, if you can, I mean. You guys communicate, right?"

Joe nodded then smiled slyly as he said, "Hey, Rick, don't sweat it. Leave it to good ol' Joe to take care of everything. That's what I do, I fix things, put things right again."

Rick backed away with a nod and headed back up the driveway. "Sorry, Joe, sorry about everything."

Joe watched him walk up the driveway and turned to Hulk as he said, "We're not telling Banner a damn thing. Let him hate him, it'll keep him away, and with keeping him away from Rick we'll be protecting him. He doesn't need him. Right? Right?" he asked as he turned to glare over at Hulk.

 _ **Right.**_ Hulk smiled in approval as they started walking down the street side-by-side.

After a couple steps Joe was able to convince himself of that as he gave a nod and said, "Right, we're doing it to protect. And that's what we do for Banner, and for us. We protect."

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Ch. 4

Cars moved by in herds of different color, sizes, and shapes. The few people on the street ignored everyone else on the street. He heard once that no one in L.A. was from L.A., and so far that had been true for eveyone he'd known. He himself was born in Dayton, Ohio, and he and his father had made their way to California by way of many places including New Mexico. Clint was orginially from Iowa and moved all over, going from foster home to circus to the streets of Los Angeles. He wasn't sure where Natasha was from but he was certain her family wasn't from L.A. either.

And as for Rick, he was born in Scarsdale, Arizona. After his father died, he and his mother moved to L.A. so she could finally live her life long dream of becoming an actress. Instead of being one of the few successes, she'd been one of the many victims. One of the hopefuls who had their dreams ate up and spit out by the awe-aspiring wonder called Hollywood. She worked two jobs now, waitress by day, hostess by night, having never been able to further her education beyond high school thanks in part to becoming a young mother, but also due to her husband. Rick had told him some tales, ones he understood all too well of control and manipulation and dominace.

Los Angeles had been her chance to break free, and so was it Rick's to do the same. He wanted to start his own band, live the Rock'n'Roll dream, but something had been holding him back. He realized as he sat on the bench watching the cars go by on the sea of life that it was life itself that was holding them all back.

At least, that was his determination. He knew that it was his life that was holding him back, or more like in place. He felt stuck, alone, and isolated in this city, in this paradise of nowhere U.S.A. It was all an illusion. The palm trees, the beaches, the mansions, the dream, and the happy ever after. All one big fucking dream. It wasn't real. Hell, this bench he was sitting on wasn't real. Nor the bus going by that he was supposed to have gotten on, or the sun moving higher in the sky.

The only thing real was the pain in his chest, the ache in his heart, and the anger in his head. He wanted to punch Rick's face in. He said he was his friend, and he had been using him all along. It didn't matter what Joe did; it didn't matter if he was a willing participate, and knowing Joe, he was, but it was the fact that they used his body...

He got up and let out a deep breath and tried to think rationally. He didn't know whether he was justified in feeling violated or not. This was a messed up situation because it wasn't him, but...it was him. It was his body at least, if not his mind...but was his mind, in a way. Joe was a part of him, another personality, same body, but...but...Oh, hell, he had no idea what was going on or how to even process any of it.

All he knew was what he felt. And he felt like ripping Rick's head off his body.

Love to see puny Banner do that.

Bruce turned to stare at Hulk who was leaning against the pole for the bus stop with his arms crossed. Hulk smirked and huffed out a laugh. "This isn't funny," he snarled.

 _ **Joe did what Joe always do. He lives, Banner hides. Can't be mad at Joe.**_ Bruce shook his head and turned away. He could be mad at Joe, but that was useless. He couldn't do anything to Joe except not give into him. Push him back and-

 _ **Banner not caging Joe!**_ _That isn't your decision, Hulk_ , he turned to confront him when a car revving broke him out of thought as he looked toward the street corner. A black colored 1980 Pontiac Firebird was there and hanging out the passenger window, yelling at him, was Ken Nando.

"I'm going to kill you, Bruce! I know it was you, you freak! You blew up my car!"

 _ **Better run, Banner.**_ "Damn it," he breathed out as he grabbed his backpack off the bench and took off running.

He wasn't the fastest runner but if he had a couple things to his advantage, one was stamina. Sports wasn't his thing, no one ever picked him for their team and he never played more than five seconds in any team play during gym class; however, he'd been running from bullies most of his life. He had a few tricks up his sleeve, and, he had to see what Ken would do if he got close enough. So the first thing he had to do was get off the street.

The engine from the car sounded like a firing missile aimed right at him as he darted to the right and into a driveway as the car sped by. Pushing the back wooden gate open, he hurried across the backyard and scurried over the fence with shoes slipping over the wood. As he landed with a huffed of air in the back alley, he heard the car rounding the corner. He took a deep breath as looked around the alley and at the fences, junk, and dumpsters off to his right. There was an armchair next to a full dumpster with the lids down but propt open from the overflow of trash bags.

As the car gained ground, he took a couple quick steps to the right to the armchair and hurried up it onto the top of the dumpster as the car nearly side-swipped it. The driver of the Pontiac was getting an ear full from Ken as he ran over the lids and then dropped down. The car was attempting a u-turn in the tight alley. Bruce smiled slightly as he realized Ken was intent on staying in the car and not chasing him down on foot, and that the driver seemed intent on not getting so much as a scratch on the car. The limitations and maneuverability of the car gave him the advantage as he started running again.

A few houses down saw a low metal fence and jumped it, landing in another backyard. Hurring around the pool and out the gate into the driveway, he crossed the street before he heard the engine of the Pontiac again. Ken was making the driver speed instead of slowing down to check the streets before flying by. _Another mistake_ , he thought as he dropped down beside a parked car as the car sped by before jumping up and darting across the street the car had just sped down. He heard it brake hard down the street and looked to see it making a sharp u-turn to keep from running over the curb.

Shaking his head, he took off down the street and through another alleyway and into the industrial area. Knowing exactly where he was leading this chase to, he hurried down the back alley behind the buildings as his ribs started to hurt. These alleys were wider but he wasn't counting on a smaller space to help him this time, but a property. Wheels squealed as it drifted around the corner and he could hear Ken's voice yelling as it started down the open alleyway. The words were inaudible but he could guess on what was being threatened, especially since it seemed like he was now the one who made a mistake.

Taking a left down an alley, he spotted the fence with barbwire wrapped around the top to keep people out. There was a dumpster right in front of it and two buildings bookending the alley. An impossible escape. Climbing up onto the top of the dumpster, he pulled his bag around and took out his extra clothes which included a pair of pants, long-sleeve shirt, and a jacket. He threw them all over the barbwire and then zipped up his bag and tossed it over the fence first before making his way slowly up and over. He heard the car skid to a stop at the entrance to the alley and Ken finally decided to get out.

He was already over the fence with a few scratches but nothing serious as he grabbed onto jacket and pulled it down to the ground. That left the pants and shirt to get off the barbwire. Not having any time left, he grabbed onto the pant leg and hoped gravity did the job as he dangled over the ground as he tried to use his weight to pull off the clothes. They ripped and tore until they came loose and he fell to the ground as he saw Ken on the opposite side of the fence fuming. Only his shirt remained on the barbwire but was dangling ripped and torn on his side.

The "Private Property" sign stared both of them in the face as he stood and stared at Ken. If he wanted over, he would have to take off his own clothes or risk getting torn up by the barbwire. Blinking back at the blurriness of the small print of the letters on the sign, he looked around for his glasses. Picking the glasses up along with the bag, he heard Ken.

"I'm gonna kill you, Bruce! You're dead! You hear me," he said as he hit the fence. "You're dead."

Slipping the glasses on as he worked the backpack strap over his shoulder, he turned around and walked away as he told himself, "Yeah, well, wouldn't be the first time." He left the ripped clothes on the ground and made his way through the damaged and broken down cars, trucks, and vans.

Looking over at Hulk who was lumbering next to him, he asked, "Think I should've smashed him?"

Hulk huffed out a laugh and said, **_Done telling Banner to smash. Never listens! Too weak to fight._**

"Didn't need to," he shot back. "Not everything is solved with violence, Hulk. I got away, didn't I?"

 _ **For how long? Can't keep running.**_ Shaking his head, he focused on the main building and hoped the one person he needed to see was there. Or else, he might really be in trouble. He should have thought to come earlier. If there was one person to say goodbye to, it was Clint.

"Hey!"

Turning to his left, he braced himself for the confrontation but instead came face-to-face with a smiling face instead. Clint was walking away from a junker of a car, he couldn't even tell the make or model, and wiping his greasey hands on a rag.

Watching him walk up to him, the first thing he could think to say was, "You're not in jail."

Clint's smile got wider as he stopped in front of him. "I got released, didn't even have to post bail."

"How?"

"I've got a pretty good advocate." He looked him over and the smile slipped. "What happened to you?"

Bruce shrugged and said, "The usual."

Not pushing it further, Clint gestured for him to follow him, saying, "Let's get cleaned up. I'm done anyway."

They slipped through a backdoor and headed up a flight of stairs that was right off the door. There was only one door at the top of the steps and Clint opened it to a room that had a bed on the floor with stacks of books and magazines with a small lamp on top of a milk crate, and a drum kit it the corner. There was a laundry mesh bag full of dirty clothes by the door they'd entered. A neatly folded pile of clothes was against the far wall near another door that opened into what appeared to be a bathroom.

"Welcome," Clint said as he spread his arms out into the room. "It's not much, but it's mine."

Bruce looked around and gave a nod. "It's nice."

"More like a shithole, but thanks for being polite."

"No, I mean it," he said as he looked back at Clint.

Despite the lack of furniture and possessions, and a lot of things that most took for granted, it actually was nice. Perfect in fact, because as Clint had said, it was his. His and no one elses. It was what he wanted but had no idea how to get.

"I'm gonna take a quick shower," Clint said, breaking him out of his thoughts. "You can just relax and take a load off...breathe. No one's going to hurt you here."

He wanted to ask Clint how he knew to tell him that, but once he looked down at himself it was apparent he'd been running from something. His palms were scratched from the barbwire, his sweats were dirty from running through yards and alleys and torn from going over the fence.

Clint brought a warm wet rag and handed it to him before going back into the bathroom and shutting the door. He stared at the rag for a moment before using it to wipe his hands clean as he sat on the bed. Then he got up and started to pace as he couldn't ease the adrenaline that'd been pulsing through his veins for what felt like days. He should be ready to crash, drained and worn out, but instead he was ready to run again.

He came here to say goodbye and now he felt trapped. Trapped in this room not by the door that was unlocked, but by the person on the otherside of the bathroom door. This was the mistake. **_He'll hurt Banner._** "Not now, Hulk." **_We don't have friends. Punk boy prove he not real one._** "Shut-" he stopped talking as the door opened.

He didn't turn around as he heard Clint moving around the room. Hulk didn't have to say anything, he felt perverted just standing there staring at the floor as he listened to him dress.

"It's okay, you can look now."

Bruce turned but headed right to the bathroom and shut the door without so much as looking up from the floor. Once he shut the door, he took a deep breath in the steamy air and dropped the rag into the sink.

A tap on the door jerked him upright as he heard Clint's voice through the door. "I've got some extra clothes out here for you if you want to shower. We're about the same height but...you're skinner than me but you wear loose fitting clothes anyway, so...yeah, um...Go 'head and clean up, okay."

It took him a moment to respond as he thought about his clothes on the ground by the fence, torn and ripped and dirty. "Okay," he said to the door before busying himself with getting cleaned up.

At least he had his own boxers and socks to wear as he opened the door with only them on and saw the clothes right outside the bathroom door. He grabbed them and shut the door again as he dressed. Thankfully Clint had took into consideration his preference for long sleeves. He pulled on the white long-sleeve shirt and jeans and realized he was still going to need a belt. Stepping out the door, he spotted Clint sitting on the bed with a belt ready as he handed it out for him to take.

"Thanks," he muttered as he took it and focused on working it around his waist.

Once the belt was fastened, he suddenly felt vulnerable as he was being stared at from the other person in the room. He checked himself over as he pulled instinctly at the sleeve over his left arm, making sure the bandage was covered. He realized then that it hadn't been covered when he reached out to grab the clothes off the floor. _Stupid, Banner._

Looking up, he saw Clint peering up at him from the bed. He didn't have his glasses on. Going back into the bathroom, he plucked them off the sink counter and slipped them on then ran his hands through his damp hair. He had to do this. He had to go. Grabbing his dirty sweats off the floor, he stuffed them into his bag and clutched it to his chest like a shield.

Taking a breath, he stepped out and went to open his mouth when Clint cut him off, "Wanna get something to eat? I know this great sandwich place by the marina. And if you don't want a sandwich, they have Fish'n'Chips to die for."

Bruce watched Clint as he got up off the bed and grabbed his keys off one of the magazine piles scattered on the floor. He noticed the magazines were mostly music but there were a few on carpentry, automobiles, and oddly enough, archery and crossbows.

"What'd you say?"

Taking his eyes off the magazines, he looked to Clint and gave a nod. "Sure." Clint pulled the door open and motioned for him to go first. They hurried out and into Clint's awaiting truck and was out onto the street before he could regret his decision.

It wasn't until he was staring out into the Pacific Ocean that was a few feet away when Clint finally said, "Gonna tell me about your arm?"

 _ **Don't tell him. Punk boy will do what everyone else does, call you freak.**_ Ignoring the question, he picked up a fry and took a bite. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to answer that, or even if he should. It wasn't anyone's business what happened or how or why, but his own.

He shifted in the chair and turned back to the plate in front of him. The sandwich had a few bites taken out of it and he'd been nibbling on the fries, having only eaten a couple. Even though he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a full meal, he wasn't hungry. He actually felt sick just looking at the plate. On the drive over he'd found the pair of sunglasses Natasha had given him and slipped him on in place of his regular glasses. It helped that Clint couldn't see his eyes. He was told they gave him away.

"Fancy meeting you two here."

Jumping at the voice, he looked up to see Natasha standing next to the table. She sank into the chair to his right and reached out to adjust the sunglasses on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"Clint invited me."

 _ **Told you, Banner. Punk boy traitor.**_ Bruce looked to Clint who just shrugged and went back to eating. When they first arrived at the restaurant, Clint had excused himself to go to the restroom which took longer, he said, because of a line. He must have used the payphone to call Natasha while he waited.

"You won't answer me," Clint finally said after he finished off his sandwich. "And you haven't eaten anything...I thought you'd talk to her."

He looked between Clint and Natasha and shook his head. **_This is why we don't have friends!_** "What if I don't talk to any of you?" he said while pushing his chair back in anger, causing their drinks to spill over the table.

Natasha jumped up after him as Clint just sat there watching him grab his bag to leave. "Bruce," she went to say to him as he walked away, "where'd you have to go?"

 _Away._ At seeing how busy the interior of the restaurant was with all the chairs and tables and people blocking his path, he slung his bag over his shoulders, gripped the handrail around the patio, and jumped over into the sand. He knew he wouldn't get far if they decided to follow him, but he was hoping they wouldn't try.

Natasha suddenly got in front of him and he had to take a step back from walking right into her. She looked ready to hit him as she stepped closer and grabbed his left arm in hers so quickly he didn't even have a chance to pull it away. Without even looking down at the bandage, she said, "Making new scars to match the old ones?"

His jaw popped as he worked it around to relieve it of tension before he spoke, which was hard to do seeing how there wasn't anything he could say to that. "Leave it alone, Natasha."

"Now why would I do that?"

"Why would you not?" he nearly snapped as he jerked his arm away. "You don't even know me."

"You didn't know me," she said back to him, "but you saved me anyway, remember?"

He blinked back at her and dropped his head as it started to ache. "That was...this is different."

"Why, because it was you doing the saving?...Haven't you ever done something for someone else without wanting something in return?"

He lifted his head to stare at her. That had been what he'd told her after she questioned him on why he saved her from her ex-boyfriend the night they'd met. She remembered? Why would she remember something he'd said? **_Don't be a fool, Banner. She's only using you. You'll see, she's just like the rest of them._** Swallowing hard, he said, "I don't know what to say." ** _Hulk warning you._**

"Then don't," she said right before telling him, "but also, don't run away."

He let out a breath as he looked around the beach and out into the steady ebb and flow of the waves of the ocean as he forced himself to ignore the voice in his head. "Staying's harder." In more ways that one, he thought as he pushed aside the ever presence of someone else chipping away at his existance.

"I've always been told that anything that's worth something, it's going to be hard. Otherwise, if it were easy, you won't appreciate it."

"Who told you that?" he asked as he looked back at her.

"My parents."

"They sound like fun."

"LIfe of the party," she teased with a smirk, causing him to smile back while shaking his head. "See, got you to smile."

He couldn't believe this, he was actually considering staying. Bruce looked back over his shoulder and saw Clint standing a few feet away with his hands stuffed in his pockets and staring out at the water. Two people who'd seen him almost literally at his worst, and saddest, were refusing to leave and let him leave. This was incomprehensible. He'd never been in this situation before. No one ever cared. He still didn't know why either of them cared, but at the moment he was done trying to figure it out.

Maybe this was something friends did. Hell, it wasn't like he would know.

"Do you remember us telling you about the gig we have tonight, are you going?"

"Thought it was Friday night?"

Natasha gave him an odd look as she told him, "It is Friday."

His head started to ache again as he went to shake his head. She had to be...Or, he had to be..."What?" he asked as he tried to...The last thing he remembered before waking up in his bedroom was being at the military base...on Monday. Four days. How'd he lose four days?

"Bruce?"

He felt sick.

"Clint?!"

He stumbled back and hit the ground as it felt like his body was swimming inside itself. His vision grayed but he didn't completely faint as someone shoved his head between his knees and was speaking to him in his ear. "I feel sick," was what he answered to a distant question he didn't even know he heard.

"You're pale..." someone said as he tried to focus on the sound of it. Soft voice, had to be Natasha. "...haven't eaten...Get him up..."

He was pulled to his feet and helped across the sand and then onto pavement. Reaching the truck, his stomach twisted and he dry heaved as he leaned against the metal of the side of the truck. Next thing he knew he was in the truck between both Clint and Natasha and his head was spinning so hard he didn't know which way was up or down.

At the moment, it didn't matter.

He was lying flat on his back, staring up at a white ceiling with a fan swirling around that made his stomach do a flip.

"How long will they be gone?"

"Sometimes it's hours, other times, days. They're busy people."

"It sounds like they're never home."

"It doesn't matter, they have strict rules. Rule number one, no one in the house."

"You know, your parents are the weirdest parents I've never met." They were both quiet for a while until Clint said, "This is a very nice house, what's this?"

"Don't touch that. Put it...God, Clint."

"What?"

"You're the reason why no one can have nice things."

He started laughing at that as he rolled onto his side. On the nightstand by the bed he saw a glass of water and a steaming bowl of something, probably soup.

"He's alert," Clint said as he suddenly appeared inches from his face. "Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

"You passed out. We had to carry you inside. Natasha made you soup."

Bruce pushed him away as he sat up on the bed and looked around the room. It appeared to be a girl's room with ballerina images mixed with posters of David Bowie and punk rock bands. Spotting Natasha sitting in a chair in the corner, he asked, "This your room?"

"Yeah, don't mock it," she said seriously as she stared back at him.

"I'm...I wouldn't," he said as he stopped looking around as Clint physically shoved the bowl of hot soup into his hands. "Hey!"

"Eat, I'm not telling you again. You said it's been days."

Bruce stared up at him as he frowned in confusion. He had no idea what he was talking about.

Clint took pity on his as he explained, "While you were out of it, you said it's been days. Four days that you don't remember. I'm guessing you also don't remember if you'd eaten anything and from the looks of it, you haven't."

Looking to Natasha, she told him, "Eat the damn soup, Bruce."

Bruce didn't object to that as he picked up the spoon and started to eat. It wasn't long before he was drinking it right out of the bowl. He was starving. The soup only made him more hungry so they went down to the kitchen where Natasha fixed him a sandwich next.

"And here I took you to a nice restaurant to get you to eat, and all it really took was a woman's touch."

She shot him a death glare to which Clint laughed as he shoved nearly a whole half of the sandwich in his mouth. He was too hungry to participate in the banter so he just listened as he finished eating.

"Jealous?" she asked as she leaned on the kitchen island.

"More like offended," Clint told her as he picked up a glass of water and took a sip. "I paid."

"Why don't your parents want people in the house?" Bruce asked as he pushed the plate away.

Natasha looked over at him as she shrugged. "Guess the same reason your father doesn't like people in his."

He stared at her for a moment before saying softly, "Secrets."

She continued to look at him as she said, "Everyone has them."

Bruce smiled slightly as he got up off the stool. "As much fun as I'm having with passing out in cars and eating all your food...I need to figure out the rest of my life, so, can we go now?"

"Stop worrying about the rest of your life," Clint told him as they left the house. "We're too young for that."

"You might be," he said as he looked over at him as they approached the truck. "I can't put it off because I have to decide what the hell I'm going to do. Hell, I don't even know if I still have my job at UCLA. I missed four days!"

"So what? You can get another job." Clint opened the truck door as he said, "Tonight, you're going to our gig. You're going to have fun, and party, and get drunk, and forget about tomorrow. All that matters is right now."

Bruce stared at him as he felt Natasha come up behind him. Looking back at her, he said, "He didn't hear a word I said, did he?"

"No, he heard, but he thinks he's helping you by taking you out of your head." She smiled as she reached around him and opened the door. "Who knows, he could be right. This could be for your own good. Now, get in."

* * *

"What'd you say?" Clint asked as he leaned out the van's driver side window.

Bruce leaned over the seat and said from over his shoulder. "Did he say the Stark Mansion?"

The guard who had been checking over the inside of the van shined his light right into his eyes and said, "And which band member are you?"

"He's a roadie," Clint spoke up from the driver's seat. "Ya know, helps with the equipment and handles any techincal issues were might have...brings us drinks."

The guard finally gave a nod and waved them inside the gated estate. "Have fun."

"But not too much, right," Clint said as a joke but the guard didn't crack a smile as he waved them through. "Tough crowd."

"More like bad comedian," Nastasha said from the passenger seat, causing everyone to laugh except for Clint whose only response was to stick out his tongue.

"So, this Stark kid. You know anything about him?" Clint asked into the rearview mirror as he headed up the long drive.

Bruce realized immediately that all eyes were on him as he sat back against the side of the van. "I uh, I know of him by reputation. Don't any of you?"

"He's Howard Stark's son," Natasha spoke up from the front. "Isn't this kid some sort-of genius?"

"Yeah, he, uh graduated from MIT last year. He's my age. Well, I'm a year older, but he already got his degree..." **_Ha! Hulk know when stupid Banner feel bitter._**

Bruce looked away from the staring eyes to his shoes that were old and worn and horribly dirty. He should have washed them or gotten new ones. The jacket he was wearing wasn't even his, it was Clint's old leather jacket. The sudden stop of the van broke him out of thought and he looked up to notice everyone in the van staring at something out the front windshield. Bruce scooted up until he could see what all the slack-jaws were about and that was when he saw it. In front of them was a brick mansion twice the size of his highschool.

"Looks like a castle," the bassist said from beside him.

"More like the Playboy Mansion," Clint said under his breath.

"And you would know how?" Natasha asked.

"Magazines," was Clint's response as he slowly drove by a row of parked cars in the circular driveway. The cars weren't the kind any of them drove; these cars cost a fortune and were all shiney and new.

"Oh, please don't even breathe on any of those."

"I'm trying not to. Is that a Porsche?"

"Park over there," Natasha said as she directed Clint away from the cars and into a seperate parking lot...Because that was normal. This one held cars of all kinds and ages and value. Guest parking.

Once out of the stuffy van, he was able to breathe, but just barely as he stared up at the mansion.

"Hey, give me a hand?...Hey, Creep!"

 _ **Who you callin' CREEP?!**_ Bruce turned and stared at the guitarist who was holding out an amp for him to take. **_Smash puny punk!_** Bruce only stared at the guy before taking a step forward to take the amp when he saw Clint walk up behind the guy and shove him.

"What'd you call him, Jay?"

Jay, the guitarist, turned as he dropped the amp and shoved Clint back. "Don't push me, you-"

"Say it again, see what happens!"

"Hey, boys, knock it off. We just got here. I don't want to get kicked out until after we get paid," Natasha spoke up as she grabbed the amp Jay had dropped. "And if you damage any of my equipment, I'm kicking both your asses."

Clint and Jay snapped their mouths shut as they continued to glare at one another. Jay reached into the van and grabbed his guitar and stalked off toward the mansion. As he passed him, his shoulder bumped hard into his, causing him to stumble backwards.

Natasha had to stop Clint from rushing after him, telling him, "If you have a problem with Jay, deal with it after the show. Now get your drums and lets go."

Bruce watched as Natasha went to walk by him and dropped his head. He moved away and went to help Clint with his equipment and to get his backpack out. He didn't go anywhere without it anymore. After he slung the bag over his shoulders, Clint nudged him.

"You okay?" he asked as he handed him a drum.

As he took the drum he told him, "I'm used to it."

Clint looked like he wanted to say something but didn't. Instead he handed him a few more parts of the drum kit, a few cymbals and stands. As he turned around with hands full, he saw Natasha watching him. She only gave a nod before turning around and started after Jay and the bassist who'd remained quiet throughout the altercation.

The inside of the mansion was more impressive than the outside with high cathedral ceilings, state-of-the-art home entertainment center that he'd never seen before or knew existed, expensive pieces of art on nearly every wall, and a ball room. An actually ball room.

"Have you ever played Clue?"

Bruce looked back at Clint and gave a nod as he looked back into the ball room then continued to follow after the rest of the band. They were being escorted by an elderly man who'd introduced himself as Jarvis, the butler. When they passed the library he cursed under his breath at the size of it, and the amount of books.

"Keep walking," he heard Clint say behind him. He hadn't realized he'd stopped to stare until he felt something push against his back.

They eventually made it to the back of the mansion and as they neared the kitchen, they started to hear commotion, and music. Jarvis pulled the doors open and they entered into the heart of the party. The kitchen out into the backyard was packed with people. Some young as teenagers but a lot were older twentysomethings.

"This way," Jarvis told them as he lead them through the kitchen and out into the backyard which was more the size of Echo Park, if not bigger.

Off the main deck Bruce could make out a pool and then off to the side a stage that hung out over the deep end of the pool. There was already a band playing but they were told to get ready to take the stage next. Bruce could feel his pulse quickening at the sight of all the people but hurried to catch up with Natasha and the others with Clint right behind him.

As the band prepared their equipment, Bruce tried to take deep, calming breaths to ease the anxiety that took hold of his gut like a vice grip.

Clint came up to him and asked, "You sure you're okay? Did you bring anything?"

He knew what Clint was talking about and gave a nod. Preparing to have to calm himself for the evening, and not knowing how long this night would be, he'd brought his whole stash.

"Cool, okay yeah, so, why don't you go get us some drinks while we take care of this."

Bruce looked around to where Clint was pointing and saw a keg with some guy pouring drinks to place on a table. He didn't say anything as he started for the table and trying to not get bumped or surrounded by the hordes of people. He grabbed four cups full of beer off the table and then slowly walked them back over to the band. As they all gulped down their drinks, he went over to a tree that was behind the stage and took out a lighter and joint from the jacket pocket.

It wasn't long until the band that'd been playing ended their set and left the stage on the otherside so not to run into the awaiting band. Bruce watched as Clint, Natasha, and the rest of the band grabbed their equipment and hurried up the steps. Clint made two trips to get all the parts of his drum kit but they were used to all this. They could set up and then strip down their gear faster than he could even begin to think what plug went where. Within minutes they had everything set up.

Bruce sat down in the grass by the tall tree and pulled out a newly bought notebook as the band started to play. As he scribbled down notes ranging from his on-going research into electron collisions and random ideas and thoughts going through his head, he heard someone come up beside him.

Looking up, he saw standing in the shadows a teen boy staring down at him. "What's that you're writing?"

Bruce stared up at the guy then turned back at the notebook. Before he could say anything, the guy sat down next to him and flicked on a lighter that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. The guy had dark brown hair and was wearing a short-sleeve white linen button down that was open to expose the black tee he wore underneath.

"Well, isn't this interesting. The last thing I expected to see was Quantum Mechanics."

"How-"

"How'd I know Quantum Mechanics when I see it? Interesting theory, maybe I know a thing or two about physics."

He couldn't help it, he smiled slightly.

"What's that? Did they tell you the rules yet?"

Bruce was confused before he followed the guy's bright brown eyes to his right hand that held both his pen and joint. "What rules?" he asked as he held up his hand.

"No bogarting, for one. You got something, you share it. May I?" he asked as he reached out to take his joint before he could even register an answer. It appeared it didn't matter what his answer was as the guy took it anyway.

 _ **Smash...this...jerk.**_ Ignoring the Hulk's voice in his head, he said, "I could've handed it to you."

"Don't like being handed things." As the guy took a slow hit, he drapped his other arm around his shoulders. He resisted the urge to flinch but that didn't stop his muscles from responding regardless.

 _ **Hulk would smash him.**_ "So you just, _take_ , things."

"Not like I took it without asking first," he said before taking another hit as he passed it back. "See, I give back. Tell me, what's a smart guy like you hanging out with those cool kids?"

Bruce huffed out a laugh before taking his own hit as he stared at the band playing on stage. "I assure you, it was purely accidental."

"Good ol' happenstance."

"Something like that," he said as he watched Clint's back as he play on the drums. _Why did he always go around shirtless?_ _ **Why puny Banner take notice?**_ Shaking his head, he turned to look at the guy and say him watching him.

He saw the faintness of a smile before it was gone as the guy looked back at the stage. "I'm going to interrupt them before they start the next song. Be a pal, save one for us to share later," he said after he snatched the joint back and took another hit before handing it back to him.

Bruce watched as the guy ran up the steps barefooted but stopped short on getting on stage as he waited for the song to end. Then he stepped up the rest of the way and held out his arms up to the crowd of party-goers. As everyone screamed and cheered, he closed his notebook and slid it back into his backpack as he stood.

He heard the guy talking as he got closer to side of the stage to see. "Thank you, thank you. Promise, this will only take me a mintue. First of all, can I get one more round of applause..." as the crowd cheered, he held up his hands and said, "Not for me, for the opening band...Yeah, just kidding, this one's for me." The crowd cheered again as he laughed. "That felt good. And, okay, now another round for the Knockoffs."

Bruce leaned against the edge of the stage as he watched the young teen take command of the stage and that was when he realized who it was he'd been talking to, and sharing a joint with as he heard the young teen introduce himself.

"For the newbies, welcome to Stark Mansion, I'm your host Tony Stark..." He had to wait as more cheering erupted.

 _ **Hulk change mind, not jerk. Pansy rich boy.**_ "Shut up," he said as he took a quick hit to try to fight the Hulk back down. The other guy was getting on his nerves already.

"Okay, enough, come on now, it's not like I'm paying you for your applause...Or maybe I am, I don't know, all I want to say is thanks everyone for coming out. This is the kickoff party to many more parties to come this summer," he had to stop as the crowd cheered some more. "Remember these three rules: no fighting, no whining that this isn't fun, and if you have booze or other substances...you're obligated to share. All right, Rebels," he said as he turned to the band, "let's get this party started!"

Tony handed the microphone back to Natasha before taking a running start to jump off the front of the stage and right into the pool. As the crowd kept cheering, the band kicked into a different song after a hard pounding drum beat from Clint.

He watched for a long moment as Tony surfaced out of the water as more people jumped into the pool. Stepping away, he took another long pull as he finished off the joint in his hand.

The party was excruciating painful for him to take another single moment, so, at the first available moment he slipped inside the mansion to get away from the crowds and drinking. He took his time studying the massive artwork and statues around the walls and in the halls as the hard pounding of the music faded into the background.

As the walls continued to tilt and move around him, and he was certain he was losing it staring at a small replica of Captain America's shield, he heard a voice.

"Come here often?"

He nearly jumped as he turned to see the smiling face of Tony Stark right beside him. "How long were you standing there?"

Tony laughed slightly as he stepped over, invading his space as he looked at the shield. "I wasn't staring, promise. Just waiting to see if you'd notice. You didn't." He reached out to touch the shield but changed his mind and stopped himself, turning to him instead and saying, "Did you save one?"

It took him a moment for him to remember what he was talking about. He gave a nod once it dawned on him that Tony was referring to having saved a joint for them to share.

"Great, hey, follow me. I want to show you something."

He hesitated for a moment, thinking that the last time someone told him that he didn't remember the last four days. Tony stopped walking and turned around to face him with an odd look on his face. "Normally when I say that people jump up to follow. I'm quite shocked, and impressed, actually."

Bruce stared at him for a moment before telling him, "I'm assuming most people in your company are there because they want something from you for their own personal reasons. I had no idea I was coming here, and...I don't want anything from you."

Tony smiled wider as he said, "Reason numeral uno as to why I'm so impressed. Come on, I promise I won't bite."

Taking a step forward, he decided to follow. Tony lead him through the back of the mansion and down a flight of stairs and into what appeared to be a workshop. There were machines everywhere, tools, a random car half built and half taken apart, and on the far wall was a white board with equations written all over it.

He stepped over to the board and shook his head.

"What'd you think?"

"You're wrong," he said with a slight smirk on his face.

Tony crossed his arms and looked over at him in mock horror. "You dare to tell me, your gracious host, that I'm... _wrong_? The nerve of this guy."

He was starting to like Tony, just barely, but enough. "You knew you were wrong." Bruce picked up a marker and instantly corrected the equation. Once finished, he said, "Catch," as he tossed the marker back to Tony since he didn't like being handed things, making him catch the marker. He stepped away from the board and continued to look around the room.

"Not bad," he heard Tony say from behind him as he spotted the machanical robot in the middle of the room.

"This is it, isn't it? The robot you built while at M.I.T.?"

"Yeah, that's Dummy." Tony walked over to him and patted on robot on the top, like was patting it on the head. "My assistant, or should I say, bad influence. Every mistake made, it's his fault, not mine."

Bruce chuckled as he looked to Tony who suddenly waved him over to a couch off to the back wall.

There was a stereo system setup and as they neared, Tony started talking, "Hey, Radio, play." And almost instantly, it started playing. The Clash's song "Guns of Brixton" blared into the workshop as he flopped down on the couch and looked up at him as he said, "Something I've been working on, voice commands and A.I.'s and all that jazz, hey, stop staring at me like that and take a seat." He opened a door to a mini refrigerator and pulled out two beers. "Want one?"

"No, I uh..." he kept staring at Tony as if he'd grown two heads as he sat down beside him. "Voice commands?"

Tony talked non-stop over the music that rocked the workshop, and if hadn't been about his growing interest in artifical intelligence and robotics and things he were interested in, he would've thought his head was going to explode. It was impossible to try to ask a question or get a word in as Tony seemed to not care, or realize, he had something to say. The more Tony talked it seemed like he really just wanted someone there to listen, as if he were the only person on earth he had to talk to. He wondered if maybe he was.

"My only friend is off at military school-"

He turned his head across the back of the couch to look at Tony as he said that. Frowning, he said, "You have nearly a hundred friends partying upstairs."

"They're not my friends," he said seriously as he kept staring at the ceiling. "They're...shares in the company and future donors. All business, nothing personal..." he trailed off as he shook his head and looked over at him. "I graduated M.I.T. at seventeen, Bruce. Spent my teenage life surrounded by adults and twentysomethings. You have any friends?"

He thought about Clint and Natasha and tried to figure out the most honest of answers. "I don't have any friends...At least,...uh...no...Maybe, I don't know." _Did he have a friend? Was Clint a friend?_

"Tell me, Bruce, what's it like?"

"What's what like?" he heard himself say as he took a hit off the joint in his hand while his mind was still working out what it was Clint was to him.

"Being you."

Bruce let out the smoke in his lungs as he asked, "Is that rhetorical?"

"Would it matter?"

"Depends if you want the truth or not."

"Try me."

He stared at him a moment before telling him, "I'm delusional."

Tony blinked back at him then asked, "Delusional as in-"

"I hear and see things that aren't real."

He was silent a moment, just staring at him, before saying, "O-Kay...Well, all my problems suddenly seem less...Nope, mine are still a hundred times more important than yours." He turned back to stare up at the ceiling.

"Don't worry, Tony," he said as he went back to taking a drag off the smoke, "the voices are only telling me to blow up your house, that's all." At seeing the startled look on Tony's face as he jerked up, he started laughing.

"That's not funny," he told him as he relaxed.

He barely got out between fits of laughter, "The, look...on your face, was."

Tony leaned back into the couch and then started laughing. "I wish you would, actually. Just so I could see the look on my father's face."

"Your dad would hate you if you let me blow up his house, Tony."

"Not like he likes me now," he muttered as he picked up a beer bottle from off the table. "Forget it, we all have problems, hey, here's to our problems," he said as he grabbed another bottle, took the cap off, and handed it to him.

He eyed the beer that was placed in his hand as Tony clicked them together. The moment the warm liquid hit his mouth he instantly regretted it as he spun and spit it out all over the floor. "God, that was horrible," he said as he moaned into the arm of the couch.

Tony didn't stop laughing.

Awhile later they managed somehow to get back up the flight of stairs with the floor moving too much and into the kitchen. He needed water and fresh air and he thought Tony just needed another beer; he'd ran out of his stock in the workshop.

"Bruce, there you are! Where the hell have you been?"

He glanced over his shoulder as he filled a glass with water and blinked at Clint storming toward him in a sea of clouds. "I've been here."

Clint really did look worried as he looked him over. "Here where?"

"Um, down, um..." he tried to remember where he was but all he could think of was that awesome robot and the radio that played on command. "Down, with the robots."

"Down with the...Is that another band?" a confused Clint asked.

He couldn't help it, he laughed as he leaned back into the counter, completely forgetting about the glass of water in the sink.

"You have to forgive him," Tony said as he suddenly appeared next to him and half drapped himself across his back as he wrapped his arm around his shoulder. "He's so stoned he makes Bob Marley look like an amateur, and you are? Tommy Ramone?"

Clint stared at Tony as he told him, "My name's Clint. I'm his friend."

"Funny thing is, Bruce said he doesn't have any friends. So..."

Bruce stopped laughing as he saw the look of sadness cross Clint's face. "I don't, really, but Clint, Tony, he's...I think, he might be."

"Hum," Tony hummed into his right ear. "Interesting. You know what, this is great, what's that saying? The more people the not so merrier. Hey, Tommy, can you-"

"It's Clint."

"-grab that cooler and follow us. We're going to have ourselves a beach party. Bring the rest of the Ramones with you."

"We're not the Ramones," he heard Clint say as Tony practically pushed him out the sliding door and into the backyard.

The party was still going strong, but not as loud as before as everyone had split off into groups and were talking and laughing drunk and/or high on drugs. As Tony passed by, people cheered and tried to get in close with him to which he somehow managed to flawlessly escape.

"Years of practice," he told him once they broke free of the ever growing crowd of people swarming them. "We're almost..."

Bruce had to catch himself on a wooden handrail as the cliff materialized out of nowhere in the dark night.

"Yep, here we are, watch your step."

The only light was coming from the half moon in the sky. He slowly made his way down the steps and finally onto sand as he heard more than saw the breaking waves of the ocean on the beach.

"There's...I know there was a bunch of wood somewhere." He heard a thud, and looked over as Tony said, "Found it, and I'm fine, thanks for asking."

It was only a couple seconds later when a lighter flicked on and paper was burning to start the fire.

"As far as you can see both ways down this strip of beach, we own, well, my parents own." Tony stood and held out his hands wide and looked around. "No other soul in sight or-"

At that moment Clint and Natasha both staggered down the steps onto the beach with the cooler.

"Never mind, forget I said that," Tony said as he went to grab a drink out of the cooler.

Someone shoved an ice cold bottle into his hand as he stared out over the vast openness of the dark ocean. There was no horizon, no telling where the water met sky in the night, just a blend of dark water into night. He wanted to be there, mixing with the water and night as the waves washed over him. Closing his eyes, he felt the breeze on his face, smelt the salt in the air and tasted it on his lips as he heard the waves crashing one after the other. He was drowning, sinking, into the deep depths.

A song started playing in his head as he opened his eyes to stare back into the dark abyss. _"I am slowing down, as the years go by...I am sinking..."_

Something was pulling him away, dragging him over to the warmth of the fire and into the soft sand. An arm wrapped around his shoulders as Natasha took out a polaroid camera and snapped a picture. He flinched at the light and realized that a body had been pressed against his back.

Clint voice was in his ear as he said, "I want that picture."

 _Where the hell did she get a camera?_ Bruce stared at her then over a Clint who was now sitting next to him with the picture in his hand, shaking it in the air. _"So I trick myself, like everybody else..."_

"Take a look."

He blinked at Clint before looking down at the developed polarioid picture. It was on black and white film and it showed him sitting in the sand with Clint leaning over his back, giving a peace sign to the camera. He, on the otherhand, looked...stoned. " _The secrets I hide, twist me inside, they make me weaker."_

"So, what do you do?" he heard Tony say and looked over. "Wait, that came out wrong. What I meant was," he turned to Natasha as he said again, "What do _you_ do? Are you with someone, or..."

If there was anyone who could laugh and make it sound deadly, it was Natasha. She told Tony right before she took a sip from her beer bottle, "Not in a million years, rich boy."

"You don't even know me."

"I don't have to know you to know that it'll never happen."

"Ouch, that hurt." Tony actually looked hurt until a little smile spread over his face. "Fair enough, however, I've been known to change minds."

"Small minded ones, I'm sure."

As Natasha and Tony continued their back-and-forth, he felt Clint lean into his side and say, "Let's take a walk, leave these two alone to bicker."

 _"So I trick myself, like everybody else..."_ Bruce got up without prompting, he felt like he needed a walk to clear his head. He was staring to lose it while staring at the fire. He thought for sure the fire was dancing to the music in his head. He pulled off the leather jacket and let it drop to the sand as they started to walk away. His skin was starting to burn up and the beer was not helping him to cool down.

"I hate the beach. Is that weird? To hate the beach? I guess it's not really the beach itself, I like the sunsets over the water and the ocean is cool, I think it's the sand. I hate sand," Clint was saying as they walked in the sand along the shoreline.

" _So I trick myself like everybody else..."_ He stopped and took off his loafers and socks and tossed them up toward the dunes. " _I crouch in fear and wait..."_

Clint stopped talking as he watched him straighten. "What're you doing?"

He couldn't stop thinking about how he felt five nights ago. " _I'll never feel again..."_ The emptiness that had been the best feeling he'd felt in years. "I couldn't help it."

"What?"

 _"If only I could, if only I could..."_ Looking over at Clint, he told him again, "I couldn't help it. That's why. It's the only logical thing I could do, still can do...to make it stop." _"If only I could remember, anything at all."_ He took a step toward the water.

"...Bruce...Come on-"

His feet left dry sand and stepped into the coolness of the wet sand as the water hit his bare feet. Instead of stopping, he kept walking as the water eased up his legs, hit his waistline, then chest...

"Bruce, stop! Hey! Help!"

Someone grabbed him from around his back, wrapping their arms around his chest and pulled him back. They went under as the deafening water roared in his ears before he broke water with a gasp. He was still being pulled as fear, then anger, gripped his mind and he tried to turn on the person pulling him backwards.

His foot slipped and he went under again without warning and nearly choked on the engulf of water before he was being pulled across the sand.

"What the hell's the matter with you?!" Clint yelled down at him. "Is that what you really want?! That why your arm's bandaged up? You want to die?"

He took a gasp of air right before a pair of lips were on his and he tensed so hard he couldn't move.

"Clint, what-" Natasha's paniced words cutoff right before Tony said, "We should be doing that."

At hearing Tony's smartass remark, he pushed Clint up away. "What're you doing?" he asked a little breathlessly, and angrily.

"I don't know...giving you something to live for?" Clint told him as he kept staring into his eyes. He saw his clenched fist and told him, "Go 'head and hit me, yell at me, kick my ass...just do something to let me know you're still in there. That you're still alive, because that's what you are."

Bruce stared up at him and felt his fist clench before he regained control of himself. There was no taunting in his head from Hulk, no bitter remarks or thought of self-loathing floating through his head. All there was, was Clint, and that kiss, and how much he really liked it. And that was what made him angry. He couldn't...this couldn't...

"You hear me, Bruce? Do something!"

He let out a breath as he pushed up and kissed him back.

"We really need to follow by example here."

"Shut up, Tony, I'm not kissing you," Natasha said, causing him to chuckle into Clint's mouth.

He broke the kiss and fell back into the sand and tried to steady his dizzy head and swirling body. "I'm sorry," he muttered into his hands before being helped to his feet by Clint. "I don't know what happened."

"I'll tell you what happened," Clint said as he shoved him in the chest, "you walked yourself right into the ocean and wasn't going to stop! Don't do that again!"

"Hey, everyone calm down," that was Tony, the sudden voice of calmness as he got between the two of them. "I'm sure Bruce would've stopped...right...Right?" he asked as he turned to face him. "No one comes to my party to kill themselves. That's just rude and inconsiderate to your host."

"This isn't a joke, Stark."

"What's with the last name calling...Ramone?" Tony whirled around to face Clint.

"My name's Clint Barton."

"Is that supposed to make me shiver in my boots or something?" Tony said as he got right back in Clint's face, "Because I'm sure mine makes you shiver in yours."

"Will you two knock it off," Natasha broke through the yelling. "This isn't the time for a pissing contest. This is about him." She pointed to him and they all turned to face him as he still couldn't breathe right.

Bruce looked off toward the water again, this time trying to figure out what the hell did happen. It was like he was on auto-pilot or something. He had no thought, or control, over what he was doing, but it wasn't another personality taking over...at least, he didn't think. There was no voice in his head to help him or tell him differently. Hulk was gone.

And suddenly, he felt so alone.

"Bruce?"

He turned back and saw Natasha standing in front of him with that ever stoic expression on her face. No concern, no worry, just there and open, like he could tell her anything with no judgement or shame. Like talking to a wall. "He's right...I don't think I would've stopped."

She gave a small nod then took his hand. "Let's get back by the fire and warm you up. You're soaked."

He let her lead him back to the fire as Clint and Tony both followed silently behind them. Staring down at his bare sand-covered feet, he shivered by the fire and wrapped his arms around his body. The clothes felt heavy on him from the water and they stuck to his skin as he felt sand everywhere. He agreed with Clint, he hated the beach too.

Tony was staring at him intently as he asked from across the burning fire. "Did the voices tell you to do that?"

Clint whip his head around so hard it hurt his neck just to see it. "He told you?" Looking at him, he asked in disbelief, "You told him? You only met him an hour ago."

"I was really high at the time, and wasn't exactly thinking clearly," he shot back as he shivered. This time Natasha was sitting next to him as Clint and Tony sat a part from each other around the otherside of the dancing flames.

"We bonded," came Tony's reply as he somehow always managed to have a drink in his hand. He took a gulp from a fifth of whiskey bottle then passed it to him. "Last one, don't want to bogart it, it's the rule."

Bruce took a hesitant drink of the whiskey then passed it to Natasha as he forced it down his throat. They warmth pooled in his stomach and helped to warm his up. They kept passing it around in silence as they were all lost in thought until it was empty and the fire had died down. He didn't know what everyone else was thinking about, but his thoughts had been a swirl of chaos. Jumping from one thing to another. He couldn't believe Clint kissed him, and he had no idea why he couldn't remember the last four days, or why he walked himself into the ocean. However, he did know where he was right before this all became the strangest day of his life. And maybe it was there, on that military base, that held the answers.

"Who's up for some foosball?" Everyone looked at Tony and Bruce found himself chuckling at the serious expression on his face. "What? This has been the most fun I've had at my house since Lisa Wainwright, and believe me, she's hard to top. She did this thing with bubble wrap-"

"No one cares to hear this, Tony," Natasha said as she went to stand.

"I might" Clint shot back.

She just rolled her eyes and nudged him to stand. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving."

"Right," Tony said as he also stood up and started to the step, "pizza and then foosball."

It was after dawn, and a long night of playing foosball, eating pizza, and then later on chocolate chip pancakes, before he ended up back on his street. The rest of Clint's band had left in the van hours ago so Tony offered to give them all a ride home. He dropped Natasha off first and then Bruce and Clint. Clint had insisted he stay with him so had Tony drop them off at the car shop. Tony told them to come over anytime before driving off in the red convertible into the early morning sunrise.

Clint walked with him home and nodded to the car in the driveway. "Your dad's home."

"Which is why you should go," he told him as they stood in the driveway. He was surprised he was still able to stand as he started to ease back toward the house. "I need to sleep. We both need to sleep."

Clint smiled a little as he said, "I'll come by later, around seven."

"Why? I mean...what for?" Bruce asked as he fingered the strap of his backpack. He'd found it in Tony's workshop that morning, by the couch.

"Movie night. Told you I wanted to go to the drive-in with my truck. I'll bring blankets and stuff. Seven, okay? No backing out."

Bruce smiled and gave a nod. "Seven, I'll be here."

Clint's smile grew wider as he took a step back. Then the smile faded slightly as he looked toward the house. He gave a wave at it, causing Bruce to look over his shoulder just in time to see the blinds from the window move.

"You shouldn't antagonize him."

"He shouldn't do the same to you, so, we're even," he said as he walked away. "Get some sleep, Bruce, we're staying for the double feature."

Bruce watched as he walked away before turning to go inside. He was expecting yelling, and cursing, and fists flying, but instead there was silence. Walking toward the stairs, he saw his father's study door shut and light on. Ignoring the smell of smoke and soft music playing behind the door, he headed up the steps. He stripped off the clothes, took a quick hot shower, and then pulled on sweats and crawled into bed.

The moment his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

TBC...

P.S.: The song in Bruce's head was "Sinking" by, that's right, The Cure.


	5. Chapter 5

Warnings: I've posted warnings at the beginning of the story for abuse and violence, this is a reminder to everyone. Also, homophobic language. So, beware.

Anyway, onward.

* * *

Ch. 5

The bed creaked as he tossed over onto his back, eyes clenched shut against the onset of the dream _._ The images hazy, hues of black-and-white, and the voices all sounded as if they were coming from behind a wall. Muffled and muted yet he knew exactly what was being said. A hallway appeared then disappeared, once in light and now in darkness. And that was where he stayed: in the darkness.

 _He was trapped. A darkness surrounded him and he felt walls with his fingers but couldn't see the actual structure. The air was thin making it hard to breathe as he threw his body against the dark only to hit something solid. No matter how hard he tried to break free the smaller the space grew until he couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He was shock still as he stared out into nothing but the dark. Then, a scream broke through just as the light. It took moment to realize what the was staring at; a woman on the ground, blood slowly pooling out under her head. ANd her eyes were wide open, almost staring up at him in desperation._

 _The darkness shocked him back into place as he hit a wall with his back. Sliding down to th ground, he felt himself start to shake as the world around him shook. He felt the vibration all around coming from beneath his legs, against his back, and pounding through his head. Clenching his eyes shut, he tried to stop it, but the harder he tried the worse it got until he was fisting his hands into his pants as another voice shattered through the dark._

 _"I did not kill my wife! I woke up and found her-"_

 _"Sir, you need to calm down. No one's accusing-"_

 _"Yes you are!" his father yelled as he opened his eyes to stare out at the scene playing out before his eyes. His father and a police officer were in the living room; his father sitting on the couch, his shirt smeared with blood, his hands, and his face red with anger. "Damn cop, you see blood on my hands and jump to conclusions! I ran to her, held her in my arms-"_

 _"What time was-" the poilce officer went to ask._

 _"I don't know what time-" His father jumped up from the couch and started to pace. "I was asleep and heard a noise."_

 _"What noise?"_

 _"I don't know what noise!" he snapped again._

 _"Sir, again, you need to calm down. I'm just trying to gather all the facts here. If you have a problem with doing it here, we can go-"_

 _"Ask him! If you don't believe me ask him," his father suddenly spat out as he pointed right at him._

 _Up to that point he'd been unseen while he hid under the dining room table. The moment their attention landed on him, he tensed and scooted away, further back until his back was against the wall. One edge of the table was against the wall since it was only ever the three of them, they never had a fourth chair. No one ever visited. He watched as the officer approached the table and then leaned down to peer under it. He pulled his legs up closer to his chest as he started to tremble._

His body shook as he pushed the blanket off his sweaty, shivering body. Groaning into the room, his chest hitched in anger at the dream as his body jerked back-and-forth on top of the bed. He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to-

 _"Robert," his father called out to him. "Get out from under that table! The police want to talk to you."_

 _His head shook against his legs as he buried his face between his knees. He couldn't get it out of his head. The blood, the screaming. His mom crying and reaching out to him. "No."_

"Nah," he mumbled as his head shook, jerking his body over onto his stomach as he trembled. His arms raised up, as if trying to protect his head, as they wrapped around the back of his neck. In his head the pounding got worse. A pounding so loud it throbbed all the way down his body.

 _Someone else appeared in front of the table, black pants and shiny shoes covered in blood. Then an arm reached out and grabbed him. He went to scream but nothing came out as he was yanked out from under the table, his head hitting the edge in the process._

 _"Hey, watch it. Let him go," the officer demanded as his father yanked him to his feet._

 _The hand let him go as he father turned to glare at the cop. "Don't tell me how to treat my son. You don't know him, always a trouble maker. If he wasn't such a scrawny runt, I'd think he did it."_

 _The officer stared in disbelief at his father as he told him, "Why don't you go back into the living room and sit down. You're drunk and-"_

 _"You don't tell me what to do!"_

 _"Do you want to get arrested?"_

 _"For what?!" his father barked out as another police officer walked into their house. He grabbed his father by the shoulder and steered him away._

 _That was a mistake; his father lashed out, turning and trying to punch the person who'd grabbed him. He and the officer fell to the floor; it took the both of them to keep his father on the floor and cuff him. He remained stunned and silent as he watched the scene unfold. His shaking hands was the only indication that he was angry. His mom was gone, his father was being taken away by the police, and it was all his fault. His family was gone because of him. He didn't want his family gone. He didn't want to be alone._

 _ **Not alone! Banner never alone!**_ _He glanced back over his shoulder as a bulking green monster appeared behind him._ _ **Hulk not leaving! Let 'em take Father! Father no good!**_ _He shook his head against the idea of his fatehr being taken._ _ **Hulk is all Banner needs!**_ _"Stop!" he yelled out to Hulk as he covered his ears._

 _One of the officers stopped and returned to be standing in front of him, then he knelt down and reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. "What's your name?"_

 _He stared at the floor as he tensed agaisnt the touch. He wanted to hit the hand away and run. He wanted to run and run and keep on running. Looking down at his hands, he saw blood on them, his mom's, and that was when the tears broke. He hadn't even cried when it'd happened. He been too stunned. He didn't want to believe it. It didn't happen._ _ **It did happen! Mother is dead! You saw!**_

The anger was overwhelming as he pushed up onto his arms and knees; his hands fisted into the sheets before raising up against the sides of his head. His pulsing fingers pulled at his hair as his breathing became labored. The sweat poured off him as his muscles braced themselves against the rage flooding through is veins. A groan escaped his mouth as he fought the invading words that echoed through his head, in his dream, and in his heart every day and night.

 _It wasn't, it didn't, his father wouldn't..."He didn't...he didn't do it," the words trembled out of his mouth as Hulk barked_ _ **Liar!**_ _in his head. "He's angry because she's gone...He's right, it is my fault, I coudn't-"_

 _ **You did nothing!**_

Pain bursting up his hand woke him as he felt the anger surge through him like a very painful release of rage. His fist pounded into the wall above his head again before he could stop it as he braced against the flare o f heat that shook his body. He wanted to feel it again. Letting go, he hit the wall again and again before pummelling the mattress under him until he collasped down onto the bed. He struggled to calm his breathing as the nightmare faded away and all he was left with was the pain. He wanted the pain. He deserved the pain. Once his head as clear and the fog lifted, the hazy images and the feeling of the dream lingered. He breathed out deeply into the bed sheet as the door to his bedroom opened. Opening his eyes, he saw his father standing in the doorway.

"Get dressed. We've got company."

He stared at his father for a good minute before his words registered. _They had company?_ He slowly got out of bed as Brian left him alone to get dressed. He pulled on a clean white t-shirt and a pair of sweats and headed downstairs as he ran a hand through his hair. Halfway down the steps he stopped and turned around to get back to his room. He forgot his he reached for them he noticed the red soaked bandage on his left arm. Shit. He must've busted a stitch or something. Going into the bathroom, he quickly took off the bloody bandage and checked the stitching. It appeared okay so he wiped the area around the cut clean of blood then re-wrapped his arm then headed downstairs.

Awhile later, he stared at his father in disbelief at the words he'd spoken. A hundred thoughts swirled in his head and none of them were making sense. His head was still foggy from lack of sleep and he'd abandoned the cup of coffee on the counter when he had started cooking. There was a possibility that he didn't hear him correctly. Then another voice filled the silence and he flinched as his eyes shifted from his father to stare at their guest. He'd forgotten someone else was sitting at the table. General Thaddeus Ross held a coffee cup in his hand as he continued talking to his father about the arrangement.

"Your food's burning," Brian cut in and it took Bruce a moment to realize that his father was talking to him.

He turned and quickly took the pan off the burner and cursed under his breath. It wasn't all ruined. And it wasn't like he was cooking for his father or the General. This was all for himself; his breakfast/lunch, which consisted of several grilled cheese sandwiches and soup, were the remenants of the last of the food in the cabinets. The pantry was bare with only a few cans of soup, bread, and a bag of instant rice. He hadn't been shopping in weeks and his father usually ate out. The thought of actually sitting with his father and the General at the table terrified him, but he didn't really have a choice. Thankfully, Hulk was being still and quiet. Huffing and brooding, but quiet none-the-less. He couldn't handle all three of them coming at him at once. Not with how tired he was. Sitting down between the two men with his food, he tried not to take up too much space. He kept his elbows in and tried to keep his eyes on what was in front of him.

"What'd you think?"

That caught him off guard when he realized his father had directed that question at him. His father never asked him for his opinion. Bruce stilled as he swallowed the food down his throat and took a moment to consider it. Without taking his eyes off the table, he said, "No disrespect General, but...I've never heard of Desert State University. It must be small. How'd I know it'll be the best-"

"It's a great opportunity, Robert," he father said, cutting him off.

"Robert?"

Brian answered Ross's question by telling him, "That's his first name, the one I had given him. Bruce is his middle name." And of course he had to make it known that Robert, the name he never went by and didn't prefer to be called, was the one his father had given him. It was one more reason why his father hated him. In fact, Brian hated him so much he was pawning him off onto the military.

"He brings up a good point," Ross said as he turned to him. "Desert State is a small, _private_ , university. Only a select few get accepted. And if they couldn't cater to your field of study I wouldn't have even suggested it."

"Where is it?" he asked as he dared to look over at the General. The man had a presence; one that overshadowed even his fathers'.

"Navapo, New Mexico."

He swallowed hard as he realized how far away that was. Even though it was something he wanted, to be away from his father and Los Angeles, the possibility of it actually happening had never seemed like a real possibility. As he pushed his glasses up on his nose, he asked, "I've been accepted? I didn't apply."

Ross smiled at him as he said, "You didn't have to, your work spoke for itself. They want you, son, that's all you need to know."

Bruce let out a breath and looked to his father. Brian wasn't looking at him, but into his coffee cup. His jaw was tense and it flexed under the stress. "Why me?"

Ross sat straighter in his chair as he regarded him, saying, "We've gone over your notebooks, your designs, and we think you have remarkable potential as a weapons designer...We, _I_ , want to help to ensure that you reach that potential."

"When you say "we" you mean the government," he said as he looked to the table again. This was all so surreal. The government wanted him so badly they were willing to oversee his education. That would mean that they would own him. He would be property of the United States government, just like he was a piece of their equipment. Looking over at his father, he asked, "Do I have a choice?" Brian looked up at him then and gave a faint nod. Despite the nod, he saw the flinch in his father's face that told him otherwise. This wasn't a discussion and it certainly wasn't up for debate. This simply _was_. A General in the military had already secured him a spot at some private university that he'd never even heard of in all the schools he researched. It was like Area 51, a place that existed yet didn't. He let out a breath and stared at his food. He wasn't hungry anymore.

Leaning back in the chair, he heard the General start to talk. "As your father said, this is a great opportunity. Your education and housing will be provided and paid for by Uncle Sam. Not to mention you'll be working for your country."

He wanted to laugh at that but he couldn't help but agree that this was a great opportunity. "What kind of...um, liberties would I have? I mean, can I leave?"

Ross stared at him a moment then laughed at the question. "It's not a prison." Looked like one, he thought as he went back to stare at the table as the General continued, "You'll go to school, work on base, and have liberty during your free time."

And that was what confused him. What work? Not to mention this was sounding a little too good to be true. Come work for the government, we'll take care of your education, housing, and all you'd have to do is us build a bomb...or whatever it was they wanted him to do. Looking over at his father, he saw Brian waiting for his answer. His stare was always one he couldn't say 'no' to. This time was no different.

"How long do I have?" he asked into the room. "Do I have to leave right away?"

Ross made a move to get up as he said, "Sooner the better. We'll start with the paperwork, because there's always a lot of it, and then we'll go from there. You've made the right decision, son. Serving your country is going to be the best thing you've ever done. I guarantee it."

 _I seriously doubt that_ , he thought as they shook hands. He stayed in the kitchen as his father walked the General to the door. They said a few words to each other then once the door was shut, Brian reappeared in front of him. He lingered in the doorway as he looked him over. "Part of this arrangement is that you'll be required to undergo intensive therapy for your...problem."

Bruce huffed out a laugh as he picked up his dishes. Hulk didn't like that either as he suddenly barked, _**NO THERAPY!**_ He peered over at the massive monster in the corner before washing the dirty dishes as he told Brian, "My problem isn't what's in my head."

"You can try to deny it all you want, but you know what you are. I know what you are, what you do. I mean, why'd you think I have to treat you this way and do what I have to do?"

He nearly dropped the plate as it slipped from his numb fingers. Turning around, he eyed his father as he said, "Oh, so now you're saying the only reason you're an asshole is because of the way I think."

"It's not about the way you think, it's about how you are, your behaviour." Brian crossed his arms as he shook his head. "From one moment to the next I don't know what you'll do or who you even are." He walked over to him and leaned down into his face. "Do you even know who are you?"

Bruce flinched back as he turned his head away and felt the anger ball his hands into fists. He knew what he really wanted to say but what came out was, "Back off."

"Are you going to hit me?" Brian asked as he did the unexpected. He raised his arms, causing him to flinch, but instead of lashing out he stepped back. "Then hit me. One free shot right here," he said as he patted his left cheek.

 _ **Hit him,**_ Hulk told him as he loomed beside him. His own eyes raging. _**SMASH HIM!**_ He glared at Brian as he felt his chest start to heave with anxiousness. His hands, balled up into tight fists, started to hurt as his nails dug into skin. It was like all the rage he felt was building up inside his chest with nowhere to go, no escape or outlet; just a burning rage engulfing him on the inside until it consumed him internally.

And Brian just didn't know when to shut up. "Who's here with you, huh? Is it Hulk?"

"Don't talk about him," he snapped back. "He isn't-"

"He's a figment of your imagination you've been seeing since you were a kid!" Brian's voice was growing angrier by the second as he glared at him. "Or are you going to go cry to Joe now and have him fight your fight for you," he asked as he reached out and pushed him on the shoulder.

"Don't touch me," he said as he stared wide eyed at his father. The fire was itching to break free as his vision blurred slightly. He fought it off as he didn't want to give into it.

"No," Brian said as he pushed him again right up against the kitchen counter.

He felt his back bump the counter as the warned again, "Don't-"

"Or what? What are _you_ going to do, Robert? Not Joe, not Hulk, but _you_?"

His body tensed as he felt frozen in place from his rage. In his head he saw what he wanted to do, what his anger urged him to do. He saw himself beating his father until there was nothing left to beat. His breathing evened as he glared over at his father as fire in his chest cooled until he felt his blood run cold as the world flashed into sharp contrast. Everything became so clear. Only one thought filled his head. "I'll kill you."

Hulk grinned; Brian huffed out a laugh.

"How can you possibly think that you don't need therapy? You're unstable. You're unpredictable and dangerous. Your mind can't be trusted."

He couldn't trust his mind? Hulk balked and turned to stare at him as he said, _**Don't listen!**_ He shook his head at the voice as he ran a sweaty hot hand through his hair. He couldn't think straight as the room started to spin. _**He's the one that can't be trusted!**_

"You're not safe for anyone to be around," Brian kept saying, "Look at what you make me do. Not only do I have to protect myself from you, but I also have to protect you from yourself! How many times have I saved your pathetic little life?! And you asked me why! You what to know why? I'm your father, that's why, but all you can see me as is the enemy. Someone you want to kill. A monster. I'm not the monster."

His body was shaking. Everything was shaking. The room seemed to tilt slightly as it vibrated in his head, his vision blurring as he struggled to concentrate. Was that the truth? Was he that dangerous? Did...did his father lock himself in his study, and stay away, because he was afraid of him? "What?" he found himself asking as he continued to shake.

The blurried figure of his father suddenly appeared closer as he told him softly in his ear, "You're the monster."

It felt like he'd been punched in the gut but it wasn't from a fist. The air was knocked out of his lungs as he hit his knees as the room spun. A ringing in his head grow so loud that he thought his head was going to explode. He grabbed the sides of his head and willed it to all to stop.

 _"Bruce! Bruce, honey, please come out of there!"_

 _He ignored her as he pushed his back harder against the closet door. Even though it was locked on the inside, he felt he still had to fight to keep the door shut. He couldn't go out there. He couldn't face her, not after what he'd done._

 _"Bruce! Honey, listen to me, I know it wasn't you. You didn't mean to do it. Your heart is so sweet, honey, I know that. It's just some times your anger blinds you. It's because you can love so deeply that makes your anger just as powerful. If you didn't feel so deeply then you wouldn't get so mad. It's not a bad thing, Bruce, it's good. It means you care. I know you feel horrible, but just know that I still love you and I forgive you. No matter what you do I will always love you, okay honey. I'm not mad. Come out now, please."_

 _He didn't get up, didn't open the door and hug his mother back and apologize. He stayed in the closet, back against the door, and banged the back of his head against it until she went away. By the time she went away, he had a headache to pounded into the front of his skull. Punishment for hurting her. She was right, he didn't mean it. It just...happened. He lost his temper and lashed out at the one person he should have never lashed out at._

 _He deserved to be locked in the closet. Deserved to be in pain. It was all his fault._

He didn't know how long it was after that, but by the time the world came into focus the sun was streaming through the kitchen window. The house faced north so it had to be late afternoon. Hours. It'd been hours. Getting up off the floor, he searched the house for Brian and found he wasn't there and his car was gone. Wondering aimlessly around the house, he tried to figure out why his head felt weird and cloudy. He tried to reason out why Banner was gone and why he was there. There was nothing. No Brian, no threat, and no Hulk. Yet, there had to be a reason he was there. Unless Banner finally snapped. Adjusting the glasses on his face, he looked down at the clothes he had on and sighed. Pajamas. Shaking his head, he headed up the stairs to change. The only clothes left hanging in the closet was a janitorial uniform from Banner's job at UCLA. It was an all blue ensemble and the shirt had a patch with "Bruce" embroiled on it on the top left side above the pocket. There were boxes and bags lining the walls and he didn't feel like rummaging through them so he changed into the uniform and left.

Grabbing Banner's trusty backpack on the way, he went down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the backdoor. He took one look at the dismantled bike and felt his shoulders slump. Of course Banner wouldn't have taken the time to fix it. Pushing the glasses up on his nose, he shouldered the bag and then picked up the bike parts and headed into the garage. On one of the worktables was a radio with a cassette player. He found Banner's Walkman at the bottom of the backpack and took out the cassette tape. Putting it into the radio, he pressed 'play' and got to work as the music filled the garage. He didn't care about actually listening to it, all he needed it for was the noise. After he assembled the bike into one piece, he retrieved the hidden key and unlocked the trunk in the far corner as another song started. It was loud, fast, and it covered up the noise of banging of metal, the force of the blow torch, and the shrill of an electric drill.

Sometime later, after he music stopped and while he was welding a piece of the metal with another, he heard a noise. Cutting the torch off, he turned toward the locked door as he heard it again. It was a voice, a yelling, coming from outside. Then the banging started. Taking a breath, he walked over to it and peered through the garage window. It was a girl. He tried to remember her name but was coming up empty. She wasn't of importance. He almost turned to walk away when he heard her yell again.

"I know you're in there Bruce! Open up, please!"

He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath to steady himself. _Still. Still._ It was a mantra that he used when trying to focus his mind on one thing. Grabbing the doorknob, he used his other hand to unlock it before pulling it open. He stood for a moment, just looking, before his eyes darted around the street. He saw no one else, not even a car. She must have taken the bus. Turning back to her, he thought of something Banner might say as he asked, "What are you doing here?"

The girl barely acknowledged him as she tried to hurry in, saying, "Nice to see you too." His leg shot out immediately, stopping her from entering before he realized what he was doing. She hit his leg and caught herself on the door as she stared at him. "Can I come in?" she asked.

He almost asked why again before he decided to step outside and therefore forcing her away from the garage. Banner wouldn't have protested, he would want to help. Too bad for her he wasn't Banner. Shutting the door, he locked it before turning to face the girl who'd intruded into his space. The first thing he noticed was her red hair that hung loose and free around her shoulders. Off her right shoulder was a long handbag. Everything she wore was black. Thin black jacket over a black t-shirt and from the waist down black jeans and boots. "What can I do for you?"

She rolled her eyes as she said, "Wow, can't a friend stop by to talk."

He frowned and reached up to adjust the glasses again. It felt strange to talk, almost like he wasn't sure how. He wasn't used to people and conversations. This wasn't where he wanted to be. He wanted to be in the garage, or his "workshop", hunched over and tinkering with all his "toys". There was no mistaken his lack of interest as he looked her over. Banner would never have been so obvious with his disinterest, but again, he wasn't him. He was everything Banner wasn't and yet all he wished he could be and feared he was. Even though Banner was emotionally numb, he was ruled by his heart. He had no heart. He was happily apathetic, unforgiving, and unconscionable. He still didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. Instead, he geatured for her to follow him into the house. No sense in standing outside all day.

Once they were in the living room, he asked, "What'd you want to talk about?"

She rolled her eyes in annoyance as she said, "God, loosen up, you're acting like a robot," as she took him by the arm, making him stiffen, and lead him over to the couch where they sat together. Very closely together. He immediately adjusted himself further away to give them some distance. "I'm not going to attack you," she told him when he leaned away from her.

"I might," he said almost too calmly, not a hint of sarcasm.

"You're so dorky." She was really close. So close he could smell her perfume, which made him realize that she actually wore that stuff. And eyeliner and lipstick, red lipstick that were pursing at him as she studied his face. With an amused voice, she asked "Are you checking me out right now?"

"No." He wasn't surprised by his honesty. It would disarm her, along with his shy smile. He knew this girl trusted Banner; they were probably friends. Truth was he wasn't interested in her, or anyone, in any sexual manner. Screams filled his head constantly, but they weren't from any worldly pleasures, but of pain. He dreamed of vengence; of explosions. Getting even was his past time.

She only smiled slightly, satisfied in some weird way. "I think you are. What would Clint say?" she teased with a laugh.

The way she kept looking at him made it hard to stay still. His hands twitched with need to reach out to touch her. It wasn't to ignite something intimate, but pure curiosity. He looked to the floor as he forced himself to stay still as he asked again, "What'd you want?"

She was quiet a moment before she leaned forward on her knees and said with a glint in her eye, "I could use a drink, thank you."

"Water?"

"Water's fine." As he pushed himself up off the couch, she added, "And to use the phone. I need a ride."

He stopped midway up as it occured to him that the only phone in the house was in Brian's locked study. Finishing straightening, he told her, "You can't," then added on like it was the right thing to say, "Sorry."

As the girl stood and stepped closer to him, nearly up into his chest, his jaw twitched. Suggesting playfully, she said, "I know it's in your father's study."

"Its locked."

"So," she said with a shrug, "I can get us in."

Was she really trying to manipulate him? She was up to something. It was a twisted puzzle, and he loved pulling them apart. A familiar grip in his gut urged him to step back as he motioned for her to follow him. It was anticipation. The thrill of excitement of the unknown. He wondered what he'd find once he pulled her apart. "Okay."

It didn't take long before she had the door open with just the use of a hair pin and needle. At least that's what it looked to be. The study wasn't much. Bookshelves along the back wall, a leather couch on the left wall, window over-looking the back yard on the right with a bar underneath with bottle of alcohol and glasses. The desk was in the middle. A few file cabinets were on the same wall as the door he stood inside of.

The girl was studying something on the desk. The phone was also on the desk but she never made a move to reach for it. He waited patiently as she lifted the picture frame. "These your parents?"

His jaw flexed as she turned the picture toward him so he could see it. Banner would not appreciate this at all, he thought as he pounded his closed fist into his other hand and forced himself to smile and nod.

"Your mom's pretty," she went on. "What happened to her?"

He adjusted the glasses on his face again as he told her, "Let me get you that water." He slipped out of the room and shut the door behind him.

It served two purposes: one, for him to refocus and still his mind, and secondly, to give her time alone. He was curious to know what her actual reason for being there was, and he knew he had to leave her alone to find out. He went into the kitchen, filled a glass with water and then chugged it before grabbing another glass out of the cabinet. _Natasha_. The name finally formed in his head but it was only a name. She was nothing of importance.

Once he thought it was long enough, he went back into the study. Natasha was now behind the desk, hand gripping the back of the chair as she looked over book titles on the shelves. He shut the door behind him and with a soft click, locked it. Putting the two glasses on the desk, he leaned on it and didn't see anything out of place, but that didn't mean anything. He looked up at her and noticed that the handbag was still draped over her shoulder but one of the staps was hanging off. Her right hand clutched the top of it hard. So hard her knuckles were turning white.

"Sit...and, we'll talk," he said as he gestured to the couch. Once Natasha sat down, he stared at her until she started fidgeting. His movements were fluid yet purposeful as he walked over and sat down next to her, only leaving a small gap between them unlike the last time they'd sat beside one another. It caused her to squirm. Seeing her squirm stirred his nervous anticipation a little more. It nearly made him smile as he said, "You didn't make your phone call."

The squirming stopped. Then she recovered quickly as she reached up to move a strand of hair out of her face. "I will. It's been awhile since we hung out. I mean, just us. I'm worried about you. Last night was scary, wasn't it?"

He looked away as he thought of how Banner would respond. There was nothing. Neither of them knew how to adequately express themselves. Banner would go for nicities and brush it off. He no longer wanted to pretend. He wanted to tell her his name was David, and he knew she was a pathetic nobody.

"Then you guys kissed," she was saying, "And, I don't know, I guess I felt a little jealous," she said that as her hand moved to his leg.

He grabbed it, hard, and held in his left hand as he felt a surge of pleasure from seeing pain. "That's insulting." The hate that seethed out of him couldn't be helped. Simply the implication that he wanted her, or her him, was all he needed.

Natasha immediately jerked her hand back, trying to get him to let go as she yelled, "Damn it, Bruce, let go."

Leaning into her, he finally let out his secret with a rush of relief as he whispered, "I'm not Bruce."

"Not funny, let go."

He held on tighter as he told her "No."

That got her to stop. Her whole body seemed to have gone as stiff as a board as she stared wide-eyed at him. His grip on her wrist grew tighter as he felt her panic set in. It wasn't too noticable but he could read her. The way her eyes flickered between him and the door as a brief flash of fear filled them. A moment later, it was gone. She knew all about masking herself as well. He liked that. He didn't know why, but he did. _Two imposters_ , he thought.

"You really aren't Bruce...are you?"

He let out a soft breath and smiled slightly in satisfaction, but didn't answer her as he used a finger to hook around the strap of the handbag to pull it off her shoulder. She flinched; he felt her arm shiver but didn't make a move as he eased it away from her skin. He told her, "Open it." She hesitated. His calm slipped again as he felt the hate push up into his throat. "Don't make me angry. I said open it," he ordered once again. The way he said that, he could see the effect it had on her as she swallowed and pulled the bag onto her lap. _This was what control felt like_.

She unzipped the bag and allowed him to peer inside. Resting right there on top was a camera. He immediately knew what she had done. She'd taken pictures of Brian's work. His classified government work.

"Take it out."

She did without hesitation. He didn't take the offered camera, instead he pulled the handbag off her lap and put it on the couch behind him, and away from her. For her to get it, she would have to go through him. That made her even more nervous as she gripped the camera tighter and stared down at it. The anger was there just under his skin ready to explode. He felt his jaw twitch as it clenched tight. A roar of blood rushed into his ears as a familiar presence suddenly filled the room. He didn't have to look to see Hulk towering over him. He was furious too.

"You took pictures," he said in a harsh whisper as he yanked her arm against his chest. He swallowed hard as he tried to steady the tone of his voice. It was hard to stay calm when he wanted to punished her so badly. And she should be punished. She'd betrayed Bruce's trust. Just like all the others who'd lied and hurt him; all the others who'd used him, took from him, and then beat him. She was no different. "Liar, and a thief."

"Let me go," she demanded again as she tried to pull away. "You're not going to do anything, you can't, so let go," she gritted out as she tried to pull away again.

 _He can't._ At hearing her say that, the heat of anger turned cold. He was beyond angry, beyond rage. He felt like a deep body of calm water. The steady darkness that hid the danger lying just below the surface. No one ever saw the shark coming up out from the depths until it was breaking through the water. Eerily calm, quiet, and unassuming right up until he broke you. "You know what I can do, little girl," he pulled her closer as he told her, "I can pull wings off flies, burn ants with mircoscopes, blow up cars with bombs, and...I can twist your tiny little arm until it snaps. That's what I _can_ do."

Natasha just stared at him. In a blink the mix of despair and anger were locked behind the veil of stoicism. Then her camera slammed into his face with a deafening crack as she kept pushing and smashing it into his face as she jumped from the couch. He tasted blood and saw his vision gray from the impact but managed to reach out and grab her around the leg. She twisted around and kicked him right across the face, sending him falling to the floor as pain shot through his head.

Pushing himself up off the floor, he saw her get the door open. The growl in his throat matched the one in his head as he charged after her. He was fast, but she was faster as she ran not to the front door but the back, knocking the kitchen table and chairs in front of him to block his path. He grabbed a chair and tossed it in her direction. Natasha managed to move out the way in time to avoid it but in doing so she lost her chance to get out the door as he advanced on her.

She came up to kick him again but this time he wasn't caught off guard as he grabbed her leg and shoved her hard into the counter. She tried to push him back with her leg in his chest so he pulled her back with her momentum until she had to drop the camera to grasp onto the counter to keep from falling to the floor. Again, she tried to get the upper hand by twisting around to come up to kick him with her right. That was when he let go of he leg, and she turned in the air then dropped back off balance.

Natasha was strong, but he was stronger as he used all his anger and advantage to grabbed her from behind then trip her to the floor. She elbowed him as she struggled to roll onto her back. She got in one good punch to his face before he caught the other swinging fist and twisted it back. Brian had done that one too many times for him to forget how effective it was. The scream she let out twisted his face up into a half smile before she went to knee him in the back while at the same time claw at his face.

He knew he had to do something drastic to make her stop. And that was all he wanted at this point. He wanted her to stop struggling. His patience was slipping as without thought his left hand drew up across his body before whipping around. It collided with her quivering mouth, sending her silent and still like a child being back-handed by a parent. _No! Don't you dare talk back to me!_ Parents said things like that when they smacked their child, sending them withering into their speechless, scared, and emotionally damaged shells of a body. _Don't cry! Give me that stiff upper lip, you weak, pussy-ass boy!_

Shaking his head quickly of those thoughts, he stared down at her face. Her look was one of shock, and fear, as she stared up at him as a trickle of blood seeped from her slip lip. The guilt and shame should have been there. It wasn't. David stared down at the girl who'd come into his house and had tried to seduce him, and who had taken pictures of classified material that no one had any business of knowing, and he felt the snap of her wrist in his hand. As she swallowed back a scream, a vengeful rage fueled his head as he leaned down and told her, "I will _break you_."

"So will I," she said right before her head rammed into his.

Pain exploded in his head as he lost the ability to think right before another pain shot up from his groin. He dropped her hand as he forgot how to breathe. Natasha grabbed him by the shoulders and with one swift movement rocked back and flipped him up and over her body. His legs hit the cabinets before landing on the floor with a thud. He laid there as the pain thundered inside his skull and throbbed between his legs as he moaned in muted curses into the floor. Through his greying vision, he watched as she got up, grabbed the camera, and then headed for the door.

"You might want to put an ice pack on all that swelling. Bruce has a date tonight," she shot back over her shoulder as she opened the door and left.

Once she was gone, his muttered curses turned to laughter.

* * *

"Holy fu-what in the hell happened?!"

Bruce instantly blocked Clint's hand from touching his bruised left eye and cheek, causing him to hit his glasses. The glasses were tapped on the left side from where they'd been broken. He honestly had no idea what happened, so he told Clint the same. There was a lot he didn't remember about the day. What he did know was that his father was practically transferring his parental responsibilities off onto the military. He remembered being in the kitchen, his father was yelling at him, and then the next...He'd woken in bed with an ice pack on his face and a pair of broken glasses on his desk. His best guess was that Brian stopped worrying about bruises that showed.

Clint batted his hand away and lifted his chin and turned his face back-and-forth. "Damn." He sighed as he dropped his hand. "I'm gonna kill him."

"Don't even joke about that."

"I'm not."

He swallowed hard as he looked away. The way he said that caused Bruce to shudder. There was no hint of kidding in his voice; he was serious. And a part of him had no doubt that if given the chance, Clint would do it. And a part of him felt a thrill because he wanted him to do it. He felt a huff of heavy hot air on the back of his neck as Hulk grinned at the idea. Just as quickly as the thought occured he shook it away as he told Clint, "Sorry I ruined our movie night."

Clint took him by the chin again and turned his face toward his as he told him, "You didn't ruin anything. If you're still up for it, we'll go, but if you don't want to then we can do something else."

It wasn't often that someone wanted to do things with him, but he thought for sure once Clint saw his face he would have changed his mind. He was too much of a problem. Maybe he shouldn't go. He should just stay in and study or work on his projects, like always. "I don't know," he finally said as he took a step back and pressed his hand flat against the door in preparation to shut it as he took a moment to take in his appearance. He realized he hadn't even noticed what Clint was wearing until right then. A sleeveless Black Flag band shirt was over a pair of black jeans being held up by a metal belt. His lips twisted up into a smile as he finished checking him out.

"Like what you see?" He felt his face run red as he looked down. "Hey, c'mere," Clint said as he stepped closer into his personal space, making him tense. A hand rested on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before moving up to grip his neck. He could feel the calluses of Clint's fingers on his skn as he leaned in and kissed him. After the kiss ended, he told him, "You'll be okay, promise."

"Yeah, okay," he said as he breathed out. Resting next to the door had been his backpack just in case he decided to go. He grabbed it and then shut the door behind him. "It's not like anyone notices me anyway."

Clint was staring right into his eyes as he told him, "I notice you." He then looked at what he was wearing and asked, "That a work uniform?"

Looking down at himself, he realized he was wearing his janitorial uniform. In confusion, he told him as he pulled out his key, "I can change."

Clint didn't allow him time to turn around as he wrapped his arm around him shoulders and pulled him along with him as he said, "If I give you a chance to go back inside you might just stay there. Relax, I don't give a shit what you wear."

Bruce let Clint guide him over to the truck and he took a glance into the back. There were a couple of pillows, sleeping bags, and a cooler. "How'd you always have beer? You're not even old enough to buy it," he said as he opened the door, tossed his bag to the floorboard and got in.

Clint got into the driver's seat as he told him, "My brother. It's the only thing he'll buy for me."

"He doesn't care that you're underage?"

Clint just stared at him as he started the truck and let it idle. "Barn... _care_? Let me tell you something about my brother. For my sixteenth birthday he dropped me off at a whorehouse with a box of condoms and a six pack and told me not to come back until I was a man. Still have the condoms. I drank the six pack while I walked around to find some place to sleep. Ended up under a bridge. The next day when he asked how it went, I told him the truth. He punched me and called me a fag. Long story short, he buys me beer as long as I don't bring my boyfriends home."

"You brought me home," he said as Clint pulled away from the curb.

He smiled and said, "Actually, you came by on your own, and since when did you start to think of yourself as my boyfriend?"

Bruce realized what he'd said and felt himself blush. The embarrassment was painful but for some reason it caused Clint to reach over and grabbed his hand. He squeeze it and he did the same. CLint had to let go so he could drive, but every so ofter he would grab his hand again, or reach over and mess with his hair, which amused him because he had no idea why he did it but he didn't not like it. As they waited in line to get into the drive-in, Clint scanned over the titles of the movies and asked, "What kind-of movies do you like?"

"Uh, I don't know."

He looked over at him and asked, "How'd you not know?"

Bruce looked away. "You've been in my house, did you see a television? I haven't seen too many movies to formulate a preference. All the ones I have seen, though, I've liked."

Clint was quiet for a moment then said, "I'll pick." He choose one at random that sounded interesting, or funny in Clint's case. He had no idea what any of these movies were about and didn't care. He only came because Clint asked him. "By the way, Nat's meeting us here. Guess her ballet recital was canceled or something and she has nothing better to do."

Bruce didn't know why he was surprised by that, or why he felt relieved knowing that someone else he knew would be there, but he was. As Clint drove around looking for a spot, he stared out the window as he watched all the people, ranging in ages and groups, laughing and talking while setting out blankets on top of their cars or in the back of trucks. The sun was setting lower in the sky, only an orange glow over the buildings and palm trees that were protruding over the concert walls that encircled the drive-in. The walls were all covered in spray paint from taggers.

"Wanna grab some food?" Clint asked as he steered the truck in backwards into a spot a few rows from the back. "I hear the pizza's decent."

Bruce didn't answer as he watched other cars and trucks full of people park. "There're a lot of people here." He spotted a girl he'd gone to high school with. Carla. Last year he had tried to defend her against Ken Nando in the caferteria; it didn't go well. After two weeks recovering from his injuries he had tried to talk to Carla and explain, or apologize, but instead she had called him a freak and told him to stay away from her and never talk to her again. Safe to say, they hadn't spoken to each other since. She was with a group of friends now and they were laughing. A few of the guys were wearing Letterman jackets. He remembered those guys too. They used to stuff him in his locker after gym class.

"Help me spread out the sleeping bags and we'll get something."

It was easy to just follow along. Easy to get out of the truck and do as he was told. Then when they walked along the pavement and up toward the concession stand it was easy to let Clint take the lead and stay close behind, head down and eyes mostly on the ground the whole time. His right hand kept making sure his left sleeve was pulled down past the bandage after each time he reached up to adjust his glasses. He realized he did that a lot, mess with his glasses; he was always pushing them back up his nose, or tilting them, or taking them off only to put them right back on again for no particular reason other than it gave his hands something to do other than being stuffed inside his pants pockets. Most everyone else was dressed like it was a beautiful hot and humid summer night in California. He felt comfortable in his long shirt and pants; plus, the sleeves hid the scars. The girl behind the counter asked if he was hot and he almost answered her before Clint gave her a smartass comment, saying he was hot and knew it. But the way he said it Bruce didn't think he was referring to temperature. The girl looked weirded out and rolled her eyes before giving Clint the change for his payment of their food.

He quickly grabbed his drink and slice of pizza and as they were exiting the line he heard Clint's voice call out, "Johnny, Linda, what're you doing here?!"

Barely glancing up to see the two people Clint was talking to, he hung back as he took a sip of the soda. Both Linda and Johnny were dressed much like Clint, except they wore leather jackets with studs on the shoulders. Johnny's head was shaved. Linda wore a plaid skirt over black fishnet stockings all the way down to her heels.

"We're just...catchin' a movie," Johnny said a little slowly, like he wasn't sure if that was really what he was doing or not. "The _Rebels_ had no gig tonight?"

"We never perform on Saturday night because Natasha always has other plans," he told them without specifying that she performed ballet on Saturday nights. She really did lead a duel life; ballet dancer/punk rocker.

Bruce tried not to pay too much attention to the conversation but Linda kept eyeing him through the cigarette smoke swirling around her face. She pointed to him and said, "You look familiar." He tensed beside Clint who suddenly draped his arm over his shoulders.

Clint pulled him closer to his side as he told her, "He was at the _Rip Chord_ last time we played."

Linda's eyes got big as she said, "You're the guy that beat the shit out of Eric."

Johnny started laughing as he said, "That _was_ you. Hey, don't worry about it, you did us a favor. Eric hasn't been back since."

"Good riddence," Linda said as she looked him over, this time with a smile on her face, as she stuck the cigarette back into her mouth.

Bruce didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't used to people liking him, yet alone liking the fact he'd beat some kid up. Clint's arm got tigher against his neck in pride of something.

Johnny looked back to Clint, amusement gone as he asked, "He your guy?"

Clint was quiet a moment and Bruce wasn't sure what exactly that meant but had a pretty good idea. "Yeah."

Johnny wrapped his arm around Linda and gave a nod. "After the movie, we're going to the Pit. You should come."

Bruce knew what the Pit was. It wasn't a building or the name of a venue, but an actual pit out past Hollywood. It was once a stone quarry but had been abandoned for years. Above the quarry was a platform that every Saturday night was used by bands to perform; they used generators to power the place for the night. Teenagers would go out there to party and drink and do other things he only heard about. No one had ever invited him, until now.

"We'll see," he heard Clint say.

Johnny threw up his middle finger at them before he and Linda walked off into the night together.

Bruce figured the middle finger was his way of saying goodbye. "Friends of yours?" he asked as he followed Clint to a picnic table where they sat to eat their food. He looked over and saw the movie previews were starting but he was in no hurry to get back to the truck.

"I've partied with them a few times," was his answer. "We're not going to the Pit, Bruce. I've only been a few times and every time I go I get into a fight-"

"That's because you're partying wrong."

They both looked up to see not only Natasha standing behind them but Tony Stark. Tony was biting into a slice of pizza while Natasha was slurping down a soda. Bruce noticed the wrap on Natasha's wrist right away as he asked, "You okay?" at the same moment Clint said to Tony, "Who invited you?"

Natasha was giving him an oldd look as she sat across from him at the table. Tony scooted in close to his side and across from Clint. Tony was sipping on his own soda as he pointed to Natasha in answering Clint's question. "He invited himself," she answered as she looked at him as if he was supposed to have known that already.

"I drove," Tony said. It was so nonchalant, like having a billionaire's kid hanging out with you was an every day occurance.

Bruce couldn't stop staring at Natasha's wrapped left wrist. Something nagged him about it at the back of his head and for some reason he felt guilty. Natasha pulled her arm off the table and put it in her lap. His eyes met hers and he didn't know what to make of her look. It looked like she was the one that was guilty. "What happened?" he asked again.

"Bad timing," she quipped but her eyes remained serious, stoic, like always unless she was teasing you. There was no humor this time.

Bruce continued to watch her as he listened to Clint and Tony quip back-and-forth with one another.

"You mean your servant drove," Clint said.

"I haven't had a servant drive me around since I was fourteen. And what'd you drive? Do you have to use your feet to get it up to speed?"

"1971 Ford F-100," Clint told him with a grin.

"Not bad for a latch-key kid. It yours, or did you steal it."

"Fixed it," Clint shot back in irriatation. "My brother owns a car shop."

"A chop shop? So, it was stolen."

Bruce finally looked over in time to see Clint throw his food down on the table as his face reddened. Bruce tensed as he watched Tony still beside him as Natasha went to grab Clint to keep him from jumping across the table.

"Hey, knock it off," she said as she glared at Tony.

Tony smiled slightly as he told Clint, "See, this is why you get into fights. You take things way too personally."

"You just called me and my brother theives and I'm not supposed to take it personally?"

Tony shrugged again as he asked, "Do I know you? No, I don't, so why give a damn about what I say about you? Tell me to go screw myself already so we can watch a movie. It's starting."

Clint eyed Tony for a long moment before he grinned. "You're an asshole. Go fuck yourself."

"See, wasn't that less painful than punching."

"Punching can be fun," Clint said with a grin as he stood from the table.

Tony stood with a laugh as he grabbed his drink. "Being hit isn't. So, what movie are we watching anyway?"

Bruce grabbed his trash and walked over to throw it away as he heard Clint tell him, " _Killer Clowns from Outer Space._ "

"Seriously? Well, guess it's too late to say I'm afraid of clowns," Tony remarked as he instantly looked over to Natasha and went to wrap his arm around her shoulders as they started walking. "But at least I'll have you to protect me."

Natasha swatted his arm away as she told him, "Hug yourself. I like a man who's not afraid of anything."

"Oooo, burn," Clint laughed out loud at the look on Tony's face.

Tony tried to recover as he said, "What I meant was-"

"What you meant was you thought you could make it with me at the drive-in. Think again, I'm not that easy."

"Then why am I even here?" Tony asked to no one as they reached his car.

Natasha grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around, pushing him up against the car as she told him, "To try. Who knows, maybe I also like to play hard to get."

Bruce tried not to feel angry at the sudden surprise of Tony's face, or the teasing her heard in Natasha's voice, but his hands clenched despite himself. He didn't even know where the anger was coming from or why. It wasn't like he should care; it wasn't like Natasha and him were...anything.

"Hey," a hand rested on his shoulder, "you still with me?"

Flinching back, he jerked from the hand as he twisted around to see Clint staring at him. "What? Uh, yeah, I'm good."

Clint didn't look satisfied but he smile anyway. Then his hand was back on his shoulder and he lead them away from Tony's car over to his truck. As they climbed into the bed and leaned back against the front cab, he himself start to shake slightly. Clint's arm was around his shoulders, his leg practically on top of his, and he felt warm and relaxed. However, he felt anything but relaxed. His body was tense, his stomach twisted in knots, and his head started to hurt. He couldn't focus on the movie at all, had no idea what was even going on as he focused on breathing, on not shaking, and on keeping his arms wrapped tightly around his body in an effort to ground himself. It was going to be a long night.

Then he felt Clint shift slightly and a hand was on his leg. His thigh, actually. "You're shaking."

Bruce turned his head to be staring right into Clint's eyes. He swallowed hard as sweat started to coat his entire body as he felt Clint's breath against his neck as he leaned in closer. Tensing in anticipation, he felt lips on his neck, kissing his skin, as the hand rubbed over his leg before moving upwards. He went ridged as he felt the hand on his groin as he unwrapped his arms to grab Clint's arm.

"Is this okay?" Clint suddenly asked as he pulled away, staring into his eyes as he caught his breath.

He went to speak, still unsure of anything, when he jumped at a loud bang against truck. Both he and Clint turned to see a group of teenagers walking beside the truck, laughing, and then one of the guys stepped forward and Bruce saw that it was Ken Nando. "I'm going to kill you, fairy-fucks! Starting with Banner!"

Clint got up, grabbed an empty bottle, and threw it at Nando, telling him, "Come try, asshole!"

Bruce suddenly felt angry as he fought to calm himself as Clint and Nando continued to yell at one another. His chest hurt as his hands clenched.

"Always knew him to be a freak, didn't know he was a faggot too," he heard Nando call back as he stared angrily at him. "Where you gonna run to now, Banner! Huh?"

There was a sudden hush as everything went quiet...All except for a buzzing of rage in his head as he jumped up and over the side of the truck. The moment he landed on the gravel his fist collided with the face of the asshole that called him a faggot. He watched as Nando stumbled and fell backwards, bleeding from his nose and lip as he stared up at him in shock. It would have been fine if it'd ended there. Fine as in everyone walking away with only embarrassment and dignities hurt. But he wasn't exactly thinking clearly. In fact, he wasn't thinking at all. He was furious and most of all, over it. Over everything. And everything turned red and dark.

"Bruce! Clint! Hey, hey, Bruce stop!"

It wasn't until the yelling in his ear and arms pulling him away that he realized what he was doing, and saying, as he yelled out at Nando, "I'm going to kill you!" What surprised him the most was that it wasn't Joe, or David, or even Hulk that had been beating the holy hell out of Ken Nando, but him. Bruce Banner, was threatening to kill a guy. The arms pulling him away wasn't that of Clint's because he suddenly caught movement of him punching another guy in the face who was coming after him.

"That's enough," he heard Tony's voice in his head as he fought the arms off him. He turned and saw Tony Stark quickly hold his hands up in protection as he flinched. "Hey, watch it, Rocky, it's me...Tony."

Bruce eyed him for a moment, huffed out a breath in anger, and then turned away to look at the damage he'd done. Clint was still pushing guys back and threatening anyone who tried to do anything as Nando laid on the ground. He wasn't moving as blood covered his face but he heard his wheezing and wimpering breath. For some reason, that pissed him off even more. He shouldn't have been breathing at all. It was that thought that got him to finally stop. He felt his body ease as he rage finally slipped away into panic. "Oh...my god, what'd I do?"

"You didn't do anything, he deserved it," Clint was saying at the exact moment Tony told him, "Sent him back to last week."

Blinking up and away from Nando's motionless body, he saw Natasha walking up to him and stopping front of him. She didn't say anything, only took him by the arm and lead him away. He was internally grateful as he let her walk him over to Tony's convertible and helped him to get into the backseat. She left him alone for a brief moment and then was back with Tony. The next thing he knew they were driving through the city. The lights from the streetlamps, skyscrapers, and buildings flashed around him as they sped along the streets and onto the highway. At one point he looked behind him and he saw Clint's truck following behind. No one said anything the entire drive but Natasha and Tony both would take turns looking back at him. Natasha would turn in her seat and give him a look and half a smile. Tony would only take glances in the rearview mirror. Music was playing over the radio but he really didn't hear any of it as he kept seeing what'd happened play out over-and-over in his head. Looking at his hands, he saw the small cuts and bruises and the blood. Letting out a breath, he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.

What was he turning into? _"You're the monster."_ His father's words echoed through his head as the lights of the city slowly disappeared and he was suddenly able to see the night sky. The convertible was twisting around roads out in the middle of nowhere. The desert felt colder than the city air. Sand didn't retain heat. Sitting up straighter in the seat, he looked around him and saw, of all things, oil fields. Cranes of oil wells moved hypnotically up-and-down as they worked to extract petroleum from the ground. He didn't want to know why they were here or how they even got into the fields because knew the area was fenced off. Then he remembered Tony Stark was the one driving him and the guy was a billionaire's son.

No one asked questions as they all piled out of the car and Clint climbed out of his truck after he pulled in after them. He looked worn and ragged and his right eye was slightly swollen. He must've taken a punch at one point. He winced at the thought as he walked up to him and asked, "You okay?"

"Never better. You?"

Bruce shook his head as he told him, "I'm not," causing Clint to pull him into a long hug. He didn't fight it as he felt himself lean into his body and just let him hold him. Everything was hurting, and he wasn't talking about his hands. He felt like shit. His life was just shit.

"It's not your fault," Clint was whispering into his ear. "You didn't ask for any of that. Nando had it coming. He's a bully who'd been terrorizing you, and many others, for years. He'll live...and I bet he'd never threaten you again."

"You don't understand," he found himself saying, "I'm not like this...What's happening to me...Wha-Why'm I doing this?"

"Christ, Bruce, everyone has their breaking point. It doesn't make you anyway different-"

Bruce angrily pushed him away before stopping himself. He just needed to calm down, he needed to stop thinking and-He walked over to the truck and yanked open the door. Grabbing his backpack, he dug around in it until he found his last joint and lit it up.

Clint followed suit by going to the back and pulling down the tailgate, asking, "Anyone want a beer?" He tossed one to both Tony and Natasha then grabbed one for himself. Bruce sat down in the sand and leaned against the truck as everyone else started walking around, talking, and basically letting him calm down. When Clint and Tony got into a heated debate about something to do with a car, or something, Natasha walked over and sat down.

"Do you ever not smoke?"

Looking over at her, he told her, "Plenty of times; when I'm in school, asleep...at home."

She leaned against the truck as she eyed him. It was hard to tell what she was thinking in a well lit room, it was near impossible in the dark of the oil field. "So all the times when you can't. Is it because of people, or what you did?"

"What'd you know about it," he asked as he took another drag before letting it out.

"You'd be surprise what I know. Besides, I'm not an idiot."

He chuckled at that as he told her, "Neither am I." He reached for her arm but she quickly pulled it away. "Want to tell me about that?"

She held her injured arm to her chest as she pushed away from the truck. "I told you already."

"You lied."

"No, I didn't," she said a little too harshly as she stood to walk away. She stopped herself to turn around and tell him, "And if you have to ask, then, maybe you shouldn't know."

Bruce watched as she walked away like he'd just been slapped. That nagging feeling was back and he knew now that his guilt was real. Something had happened that he didn't remember, and it had hurt Natasha.

"Women," Tony said as he walked up beside him. Bruce looked up at him as he took another hit off the joint. Before he could say anything, Tony snatched it out of his hand, took a hit, then handed it back to him. "You know she was serious with that hard to get talk. What scares me is that you and Clint will get further tonight than I will get with her this entire summer."

He nearly choked on the smoke at the reminder of what had happened, or was going to happen, in the truck before they were interrupted filled his head. Then, with all the seriousness he could gather, he told him, "That's another thing you're afraid of."

Tony looked down at him and said, "Atleast I'm not afraid of people."

Bruce chuckled slightly as he told him, "I'm not afraid of people. I'm afraid of me... _with_ people. There's a difference." He felt himself start to ache again in the chest as it got harder to breathe. Taking a quick pull off the joint, he tried to calm himself as he looked away. Natasha and Clint were both watching them as he looked over to where they were standing. Neither one tried to interrupt but he saw their concern. He didn't deserve the concern. He didn't deserve any of this. They were being so nice, and understanding. He'd lost his temper; Bruce Banner had attacked another human being. Hulk wasn't even there to snarl in victory. In fact, he hadn't seen or heard from him since earlier that day in the kitchen with his father.

Tony was quiet for a long moment before he told him, "Yeah, well, join the club. People are overrated anyway. Who needs them? Am I right? Of course I am," he asked for himself as he looked around at all the oil wells. "My dad knows a lot of people, wealthy people...This is the only place in L.A. that I know has no people. No one here but us."

"Speaking of people your dad knows, why aren't you throwing a party for all his friends kids tonight?"

For a split second Tony actually looked hurt. Then it was gone and he gave a shrug. "Can't, my parents are back in town. They'll probably be gone again this time tomorrow. I don't know their schedule but they never stay long. Here one day, gone the next," he said as he suddenly sounded very dramatic. "Question," he suddenly said as he pointed to his uniform. "Why the outfit?"

He shrugged as he took another drag off the joint. "Didn't have anything else to wear."

"So this is yours," he gestured all around him and said, "You normally wear that to a job you have?"

"When I had that job, yeah."

Tony nearly gapped at him as he said, "Why? Collectively, we're both geniuses, so why genius, do you work as a janitor? And where?"

Without a second thought, he told him, "My father doesn't like it that I'm smarter than him...He got me the job at UCLA. I didn't mind it."

"You should've," Tony said as he heard someone else walk over to them.

"Is he bothering you?" Clint asked.

"Only spiritually," Tony said at the exact moment Bruce declared, "Yes."

Clint stopped in front of them and handed him a cold bottle of beer as he told Tony, "You heard 'im. Shoo, go."

Bruce stared up at Tony as he asked, "Spiritually?"

"You're more than you give yourself credit for, Bruce. And," he said as he gestured to Clint, "you chose him over me and that saddened my soul. I thought we had a very meaningful bonding experience."

"We got high together."

"So?" he asked.

"He," Bruce said gesturing to Clint, " _kissed_ me?"

"Point taken. I'll leave you two alone," Tony said as he turned to walk away, giving them a wave over his shoulder as he went.

Once Tony was gone, Clint slid down next to him the sand and leaned back against the truck and took a sip of his beer. Bruce, on the other hand, watched as Tony walked over to Natasha. His jaw worked back-and-forth as he saw the way she suddenly laughed at something he'd said. Just like that, in a matter of a day, they were friends? Natasha looked like she was actually flirting with him as they drank and continued to laugh, smile, and talk. And for some reason, he didn't like that. He felt...betrayed, and angry, at _her_. He wanted to get up, smack that bottle out of Tony's hand, and tell him to leave her alone or else...

"Tony's right, you know. I don't really like the guy, but he's right. You don't give yourself enough credit or slack. If you don't start easing up off yourself..."

Bruce turned to look at him as he asked, "Then what?"

Clint looked lost on where he was going with that before shrugging as he looked away, "Fuck, I don't know, but it's not good for you. You defended yourself against an asshole. Stop making it more than what it was. Let it go. You did the right thing. I get it, you're nice and kind and you keep to yourself...That's why I like you, Bruce. And you're still that good guy. This doesn't make you bad. From now on, if something happens, let me do the fighting, okay?"

That only made it worse. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said as he shook his head and looked away.

"The hell I don't," Clint snapped back. "I've had my fair share of assholes, hey, look at me, Bruce!"

He snapped his head around and glared at him. "You're different, we're different. Maybe for you it was just another fight...but I don't do that!"

"I don't either! But sometimes you have to hit someone to get your point across, especially if they're going to hit you! Sometimes you have to make them fear you in order for them to leave you alone! You did that!"

Clint yelling at him startled him. The anger clenched his chest as he suddenly felt out of his head. Out of his body...

"Hey, hey, Bruce? C'mon, I didn't mean to get mad. Bruce, you okay," Clint laid his hand on his shoulder and it jerked back as he jumped up, turned around and grabbed him by his shirt as he shoved him hard against the truck. "Ow, hey, I said I was sorry!"

"What the fucks the matter with you?!" Joe yelled out. "You scared Bruce so bad he took off, dipshit."

Clint stayed frozen as he heard the words coming out of Bruce's mouth. Then he was confused as he heard him refer to Bruce in third person. "What're you talkin' about? You're Bruce-"

"I told you, you scared him off," he leaned down close to his face as his arm held him against the truck. "You have to deal with me now."

He saw Tony run up behind Bruce and went to grab him when Clint shot his hand up to stop him. This wasn't right and he had no idea what was going on, and he didn't want Tony to get a fist in the face for his efforts. "Who are you?"

Joe didn't smile at him as he told him, "I'm the one you answer to. You scared Bruce and I want to know why. And to think I used to like you, Sid. Now, I'm two seconds away from pounding your pretty little face into the side of this truck, so talk."

"Jesus," Clint sighed under his breath as he realized what had happened. This was just like before at Bruce's house, only worse. "I told him I was sorry, now back off. I didn't mean it."

"No one ever means it, do they," Joe backed off him, but only slightly as a teasing grin spread across his face "I don't know why you want him anyway, I'm the fun one. Word of advise, he won't touch you or let you touch him, he'll just want to watch." He stepped away as he suddenly looked around. When he spotted Tony and Natasha, he asked in surprise, "Who the hell are you two?"

"Who the hell are you?" Tony asked right back.

"What's it matter to you?"

"I want to know who I'm talkin' to."

Joe chuckled at that but answered anyway, "It's Joe, Joe Fixit, because I fix Banner's shit, get it?"

"Yeah, I get it," Tony nodded then he turned to look at him with wide-eyes. "Bruce's voices aren't just voices, are they?"

Clint pulled himself up off the ground as he told them, "Bruce gets into trouble, he calls you, is that it?"

Joe turned around to face him as he smiled. "You're not as stupid as you look, Sid."

Clint really didn't like this guy. In fact, he reminded Clint of another person in Bruce's life, his father. "Name's Clint."

"I like Sid better. You know, Sid Vicious...Sex Pistols."

"I know-" he stopped himself as he circled around the guy to stand next to Natasha. She had yet to say a word but the look on her face told him everything he needed to know. She wasn't surprised at all. Clint regarded her look, the bandage on her wrist, and it didn't take him long to put two-and-two together. "Bad timing?"

Natasha flinched and shook her head, telling him, "Not him. There's another."

Clint wrinced as he turned to watch this Joe guy in Bruce's clothes take off Bruce's glasses and put them in his breast shirt pocket. When he noticed what he was wearing, he shook his head. "Fuckin' Banner."

Clint didn't know what to do now since this wasn't Bruce. How did he get him back? Was he really gone, like for good? "Can you bring him back?"

Joe actually laughed at that. "Now why would I do that? I'm here, and unlike Banner, I do like to party. Got any beer?"

"No," they all lied at once, causing Clint to smirk as Joe glared at them all. No one wanted to party with this guy. "Why are you here anyway?"

"I told you-"

"I mean like, why does Bruce need you to begin with?" Clint figured since Joe was willing to talk, he could get as much information out of him as possible.

Joe shrugged. "Pain, guilt...He's a lapsed Catholic so what'd you expect? He lives in guilt and shame. Or, he could just be crazy. I can tell you that he has zero accountability for his own actions. He's not responsible for anything he does. It's either my fault or David's or Hulk, but never poor ol' misunderstood Bruce Banner...Except for tonight. Got to hand it to him, he has a damn good right hook, must've learned it from me," he joked then stopped his tirade as he regarded all three of them. "We. Protect. _Him_. That's what we do. That's why I'm here."

Clint was starting to get a clearer picture here of what was going on. As well as knowing that there were more, at least two more besides this Joe guy. He also thought he was full of shit when he said that they protected Bruce. "Protect him from who? His old man? Hate to say it, but you're doing a pretty awful job on that one."

Joe just huffed out a laugh as he told him, "No, not Brian. Brian's manageable and easy to manipulate. We all know he hates him so it's not hard to push his buttons."

"Then who do you protect him from?" Tony asked, finally speaking up.

"Himself," Joe said with a slight shrug before eyeing him. "And people like _you_."

Clint stilled at that as he swallowed hard at the sudden threatening look in Joe's eyes. "Me? What'd I do? I'm not-"

"Just trying to use him? It wouldn't be the first time someone like you took advantage. All you see is some hapless weakling who can't-"

"Hey! Don't talk about Bruce like that!"

"Why not?! Isn't that what you told him. That you like him because he's soft. I heard you."

"You heard wrong...He heard wrong. That's not what I meant-"

"Then why? Why'd you even care? He's done nothing for you. Only caused you more problems."

"So? It's not like I haven't had worse. He's a friend and like I've told him, I'm loyal to my friends."

"That's it? _Loyalty_?" He practically laughed. "Banner doesn't know what a friend is, so you can forget about him knowing how to return the favor. It doesn't matter anyway, because we all know one day you'll turn on him. They all do. Everyone puts up with Banner for so long, teasing him with friendship out of pity, before they start calling him a crazy freak behind his back. He could save their life and they'll still mock him! Still use him! You're no different! All of you! You'll betray him, it's only a matter of time. And when you do, we'll be there to tell that little ass-wipe I told you so."

Clint's mouth snapped shut as he stared at whatever this person was standing in his room and felt himself very close to punching his lights out. He may look exactly like Bruce, but he clearly wasn't the guy he liked. This Joe guy was a bully. And an asshole. But at the same time he was starting to think Joe was right. What was he doing anyway? Why was he letting himself get so hung-up on Bruce that he didn't give a shit if the guy was batshit crazy? Especially now since he was seeing and hearing first-hand that Bruce didn't just see and hear things that weren't there, but he was...this crazy. "I think you should leave."

He saw a small smirk jerk up on Bruce's face as Joe huffed out a sad laugh. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Banner doesn't need to know that his so-called "friends" loyalty only goes so far. I guess that friendship train stops at crazytown."

"I didn't mean physically leave. I meant I want _you_ to leave." Clint was still standing at the ready in case he had to suddenly protect himself as he told him, "Bring him back."

"You've got to be kidding me."

Clint gave a quick jerk of his head as he told him, "I'm not. I want to talk to Bruce."

Joe heaved a sigh as he raised his arms in frustration. "Fine. Fucking fine. But I'm warning you, Sid-"

"And I'm warning you," he snapped back as he stepped right up to him. "I'm not going to be intimidated into leaving Bruce alone. He needs a real firend, someone who actually cares, and that's me."

"Us," Natasha said. Tony just nodded as he said, "Yeah."

Clint finished off by telling Joe, "If you've got a problem with that then stay away. Got it?"

He watched as Joe's eyes clouded slightly as he looked him up and down, a teasing smirk playing at the edges of his lips. "Damn, Sid, if Banner didn't like you so damn much, I'd kiss you."

"Not in a million years, asshole," Clint glared at him. Then he realized that he probably wouldn't even know the difference until it was too late. Bruce and Joe were the same person after all. His head was still working that over at he watched as Joe turn around and paced around a little, hand on his head, and let out a deep breath.

He leaned against the truck and dropped his hand. Looking up and around in confusion first before their eyes meet. Then his got real wide as he said, "Clint, you okay?"

Clint hesitated a moment before asking, "Bruce...that you?"

He gave a slight nod as he hesitated in moving. It was out of fear Clint realized as he worked his hands in front of his body. "I'm...What happened?" he asked as he started to panic.

"Hey, it's okay." Clint was in front of him.

"No it's not," he said as he shook his head. "I'm sorry, okay, I'm so s-sorry." He was visibly shaking and it hurt Clint to think that he was this afraid of him knowing.

Without saying another word, he pulled him into a hug and just held him as he shook. Bruce tried to fight him off him, telling him to "get off him" and to "let go" a few times before his strength gave out and he stopped struggling. Once Bruce had calmed, he let go. There was a lot going through his mind anyway, like Joe, and who the hell were Hulk and this other David guy? How many other people were there? Where they all like Joe, or better or worse? Natasha told him there was another and that he had been the one to hurt her.

Bruce blinked back and finally looked up at him. "I'm, uh,...I'm assuming it was Joe."

Clint let out a breath and said, "Yeah."

This was all exactly what Joe told him it was, crazy. Bruce was crazy, and he was crazy, and all this was crazy. Yet, despite all of that, he didn't want Bruce to leave. He didn't want to leave. In fact, he still wanted to kiss him senseless. It didn't seem to matter to him. This could have been dangerous, and the worst decision of his life, but he didn't care because who he did cared about was Bruce. It wasn't like he was any better. They were both messed up, so, the way he saw it, they could be messed up together.

"He tell you anything?"

Clint snapped out of his thoughts as he answered, "Plenty; that asshole likes to talk...Wanna get the hell out of here?" Anywhere else was better than being there. Bruce gave a nod as he looked around him. He looked over his shoulder and saw both Tony and Natasha standing there. He forgot they were still there. "Uh, we're goin' go."

Natasha stepped forward and leaned into Bruce to give him a hug. She whispered something to him, something he couldn't hear, and Bruce seemed to relax a little as he gave a nod into her shoulder. She backed away and Tony gave him a peace sign as he said, "Not hugging you. But I'll see you guys soon. Drive safe, Sid."

"Shut up, Stark," Clint barked out as he opened the door for Bruce to get in.

Clint drove them to the car shop and parked. They hadn't spoken since leaving the oil field and the moment he walked into Clint's room, Bruce felt suddenly trapped. The room even seemed smaller than before and he wasn't sure of what to do, or where to go. He tossed his bag down by the door and just stood there a moment as Clint went straight to the bathroom and shut the door. He looked to the bed and saw that it was unmade with the blanket half hanging off it to the floor and the pillows were up agaisnt the wall. He let out a breath and turned around to face a small table against the wall. On it was a stereo so he went over and turned it on. The volume was up really loud and it made him jump when the music came on.

Clint walked out of the bathroom laughing as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the dirty clothes pile. "Sorry, I forgot it was up that high." Bruce barely heard him as he looked at his bare chest instead before giving a nod. He gestured to the stereo as he asked, "Want to put something on?"

Bruce thought about it for a moment, listening to what was playing on the radio station, and decided that he did want to hear something else. He got his backpack and dug through it for his Walkman. He opened it and stilled at the empty tape deck. There was no cassette tape.

"Everything okay?"

"I, uh...lost my tape." Bruce dropped the player into the bag and started digging around in it. He had no idea where it was.

"What was it?"

Bruce tossed the backpack down in frustration as he ran his hand through his hair. He had no idea where it went. "It was an album by _The Cure_."

"Hey, I know that band, uh, here," Clint said as he went over to a box beside the table and dug through it. After a second he came up with a cassette and tossed it to him, saying, "Catch" as he did so.

Bruce fumbled with the catch but held on to it between his arms. Looking at the tape, he saw it was another album by _The Cure_ title "Pornography".

"I got it based on the title alone," Clint said with a laugh. "Ended up not being what I thought it was. I bet you'll like it though."

Bruce stared at the tape for a moment before telling him, "Thanks, I'll get it back to you."

"Keep it," Clint said as he returned his attention back to the box.

He looked over at him as he grasped it in his hand a little tighter. "You sure?"

"Of course, wouldn't have told you to keep it if I didn't want you to have it."

Bruce immeditately put into into the stereo tape deck and closed it and pressed "play". As a drum beat burst out from the speakers, he sat back down on the bed and turned his attention to the books and magazines Clint had piled beside the bed. As he thumbed through them, Bruce realized that Clint's interest wasn't just in music and archery, but carpentry, auto and plane mechanics, and a couple of novels by Louis L'Amour titled the "Son of a Wanted Man" and "The Walking Drum". He was actually impressed by Clint's reading habits and of the skills he wanted to obtain.

Clint finally stood as he shoved something into his pants pocket. Walking over to him, sat down beside him as he looked at what he doing. At seeing him fliping through the carpentry magazine, he told him, "I was always good at woodshop."

Bruce looked over at him and smiled, "That and many others."

"Not like you. Compared to you-"

"Compared to me, you're just as intelligent about everything that I have no knowledge of."

Clint stared at him a second then laughed. "See, I have no idea what you just said." He grabbed the magazine out of his hands and tossed it to the floor.

"I was only saying that, you're smart. The knowledge you have of the subjects that interest you makes you an expert. I know nothing about carpentry, but I bet you can build whatever you want if you put your mind to it."

"What you're saying is, I'm smart at woodshop."

Bruce sighed and went to say, "That's not what-"

Clint's lips were on his, silencing his protest. When he pulled away slight, he told him, "It'll be okay...we're not going to do anything you don't want to do."

Bruce felt himself being pushed back until he was lying down on his back with Clint on top of him, kissing him and touch him. He found it hard to concentrate on anything else as he kissed him back.

Some time later, he was staring into a dark room that was being caved in around the walls by a haze of green. Bruce laid in the bed, feeling the weight of Clint asleep next to him, as he stare at the ceiling. Then he heard a noise. It wasn't loud, but it was there. A soft growl and caused him to jerk up right in the bed. In the corner of the room he saw him. Big, green, and angry. Bruce fixed him with a stare of his own as he looked from him, back at Clint next to him, and then back over to Hulk. Hulk only huffed and growled. Bruce felt his jaw flex as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Hulk stood straighter and taller as he huffed again and headed out the door. Bruce followed. It wasn't until he was outside that he realized he had no shoes, socks, or shirt on. Why wasn't he wearing a shirt...? Hulk growled louder, causing him to look up at him. A big green hand waved hard at him, like it was dismissing him, before he continued to walk away. Taking a step further into the night, he continued to follow without even knowing why.

Then the air seemed to shift in weight as the sky grew darker until there was no light. The ground was under his feet, hard and sharp stabs of pain from rocks and gravel, nails and old car grease and oil. His body felt light, as if he were floating, being dragged along by the beast ahead of him walking. The air was thick and tight in his chest as a darkness settled around him and all he could see was Hulk as he stopped walking. He was breathing hard and seething, pacing back-and-forth.

He was asleep. That nagging voice in the back of his head kept telling him that as it tried to wake up. But he resisted. He didn't want to wake up as he kept his eyes pinned to the target of his questioning. The beast didn't say anything, just kept going back-and-forth, like a pendulum. He could hear a constant rythym of the banging as the Hulk reached one side of the darkness before hitting the other. A trapped beast. He was trapped. Trapped in his head, in his heart, and he just knew who was at fault.

"You're the monster. You lied to me."

Hulk stopped pacing and the banging stopped. He turned to glare at him. Pent-up anger and jealously ready to rage. **Hulk never lied** , he barked.

He barked back, "You told me that you were all I needed! You lied!"

Hulk huffed as he told him, **Hulk does what Hulk always do, protect Banner.**

"Protect me," he laughed. "You don't protect me, not always. Keeping secrets from me isn't-"

 **Banner make own trouble,** Hulk yelled as he hit the ground. He felt the trembling under his bare feet like an earthquake. **Get what you deserve. All other times, there's Joe. Joe always fix Banner's mess.**

"And lie to me!" he snapped as he glared at the hunkering beast that was supposed to be his protector and sneered. "You were my biggest mistake." Hulk growled and hit the ground again but he didn't flinch. Their rage were the same; he felt the pounding in his own fist, the ground quaking under his own power as he beat it, and told him, "My father's right, I need therapy. I want this to stop! If I get what I deserve, then I deserve the truth. I want to remember. I want to know what happened! Tell me!"

Hulk looked away, angry and resigned before saying, **Was your fault. Too weak, too puny to stop it. Banner watched. Always watch. Did nothing.**

It struck him then what Hulk was talking about. The nightmare of a dream he had last night. The police, his father...the death of his mother. "I was eight," he reasoned back as his body shook. It was right there. The memory, the truth that he knew existed, but still he couldn't grasp it. A buzz in his head made him grip it from the pain. It needed to stop.

 **Coward. Liar...Banner lied to protect him,** Hulk yelled back as the buzzing broke through his skull and filled the void between the two of them. Hulk even flinched and growled.

"Him? Him...who? Who'd I lie to protect?" When he received no answer, he demanded, "Answer me!"

 **Banner don't want to know.** With that, Hulk turned to walk away as the old torn up and adandoned cars drifted into focus around him.

"You can't just walk away from me! You promised to not leave! You said you were all I needed!" Bruce's voice echoed into the darkness to a retreating massive green back as he felt the void start to fill him up on the inside. A sudden emptiness overtook him as he suddenly felt afraid. Very much afraid and alone. "You lied to me!...Hulk!...Hulk?"

Shivering into the cold air that surrounded him, he dropped his head into his hands as the buzzing grew louder. _Go away, go away._ He urged the buzzing gone as his knees buckled and he hit the ground. When he looked up, it wasn't Bruce's eyes that took in the dark and scary lot of the car shop, but Robbie's. His breath hitched in panic and fear as he trembled out, "Hulk?"

 **Robbie?**

Turning toward the voice, he saw Hulk approaching beside him. "I'm scared, where am I?"

 **It ok, Hulk show you.** Hulk motioned for him to follow so he got up off his knees and took a step. The ground hurt his feet but he kept walking further into the lot and around the twisted and dented masses of metal and rubber.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he told him, "Banner wants to know."

 **Banner don't, or he know already. Banner scared of truth. Robbie not tell him** , Hulk suddenly barked as he turned to stare at him.

He swallowed hard as he told him, "I-I won't." Hulk had never scared him like this before. For the first time, he was afraid of the beast. Something was wrong with him, he could feel it. This wasn't the same. Hulk was scared. "Knowing the truth will hurt him and that's why you're scared?"

Hulk huffed and turned back around as he continued walking. **Banner hurt all the time. No different.**

"Then why not tell him?" Robbie stopped walked as he readied himself when Hulk turned back around to glare at him.

Hulk stomped up to him and leaned down to point his massive finger in his tiny chest. **Truth won't hurt Banner, destroy him. And if Banner is destroyed...**

"It'll destroy us," he finished for him. "Therapy will destroy us. But, but what if it helps?"

Hulk was quiet for a moment before he turned to walk away. Then he stopped and peered over his shoulder at him as he said, **Help** _ **is**_ **destroy.**

Robbie didn't want to follow Hulk anymore. He stayed rooted in his spot as he watched as the raging beast continued into the darkness until he was gone. The darkness started to surround him, covering the cars, the ground, and the night sky as he shook from the cold. The buzzing stopped and he felt his body tilt forward, the weight of his legs suddenly disappearing out from underneath him. He dropped to his knees first before his body tilted sideways. The pain as he hit the ground was only a faint memory before everything faded to black.

TBC...

Five more chapters to go! And I'm writing a sequel that takes place twenty-some years later, putting them in the middle of the MCU as adults. It'll be different but I'm excited about this Alternate Universe I've created with this story and I wanted to continue it.


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